


The Bully and the Geek

by moowithme



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, F/F, Fluff, nerd root, troublemaker shaw
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-03
Updated: 2015-06-03
Packaged: 2018-03-21 02:00:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 23,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3673314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moowithme/pseuds/moowithme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sameen Shaw is a troublemaker. Root Groves is a straight-A student. A "Totally saw you spray paint the principals car and you’ll have to buy me dinner to keep me quiet" scenario ensues. If Sameen can help it, nothing more will come of it. If Root can help it, it will.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Buy Me Dinner

**Author's Note:**

> Saw a list of Troublemaker/Nerd AUs and simply needed to apply some of the prompts to Shoot. So, enjoy a new Shoot HS-AU!

Sameen Shaw was an artist. Not one of those drugged-up, hippie-type, ‘you can feel the love in this painting of a landscape, man. The clouds make you feel all light and mushy inside’ kind of artists, either. They were about the farthest thing from Sameen, really. The farthest thing from a _true artist_. Shaking shit up and making a statement.

Sameen’s canvas that day was a clunky, rusted within an inch of its life, vaguely brownish convertible. The insignia had broken off long ago, so it was easy to believe that only some long-dead previous owner truly knew the make and model. It just so happened to belong to the principal.

Her content was simple, effective, and surprisingly steady-handed considering all she had to use as a medium was a half-empty spray can with a wonky nozzle. The mucky greenish color of the paint really added a nice contrast to all the rust. Honestly, she was doing Principal Heedy a favor- that sorry excuse for transportation was just begging for a paint job, and here she was providing a compelling reason to splurge on one.

She squatted down lower to the pavement, shaking the can before adding a final touch to the vaguely phallic design. Actually…It wasn’t so vague. It was pretty clearly meant to be a dick. Because that’s what Heedy was. A dick. He’d called Sameen up to the front office six times in that one week alone- and only _once_ was she actually responsible for what she was accused of there. She was tired of his adamant and rather amusingly passionate ravings about how she was throwing her future away to cultivate, and here a direct quote from the last Heedy lecture, “an image that a junkie rock star would call hardcore.” Whatever _that_ even meant. So she got into a few fights, so what? So she didn’t apply herself all that much and had borderline-excessive amounts of absences, who cares? So she let loose the flies that the zoology students had collected in a jar for their class pet frog to eat, big freakin’ deal.

Sameen Shaw was taking a stand.

Sameen Shaw was skipping class to paint a masterpiece on a scrap metal vehicle.

Usually, she wasn’t so into the whole fine arts thing; but she could make an exception now and then. Hell, maybe she’d even get herself a nice-ass sketchbook and take to the aforementioned hippie, cloud-loving lifestyle if instead of landscapes she could just pull crap like this.

Pushing some stray hair out of her face and only getting a bit of paint smeared from her hand to her forehead in the process, she stood up. By now, her mom was probably at work- meaning she could take the rest of the day sitting pretty at home and eating everything that didn’t require active preparation.

“Do you give art lessons?”

Shit. She was going to have to intimidate some kid into keeping quiet now. Why couldn’t people just mind their own business?

Sameen turned her head but kept her body still and her feet rooted to the ground. She’d miscalculated the direction of her glare a bit. The girl who’d spoken was taller and way closer than she had anticipated. Too close for her own good. Sameen liked to maintain a nice little bubble of personal space- and this girl was crashing right into it. Recalibrating and making sure the glare lost none of its sting, she looked straight into the eyes of some brunette she’d seen in the halls. A real nerd-type. Destined for a career in the library, or a museum or something.

Miss Loserville USA didn’t seem to even notice the look Sameen was so calculated in giving. She even _smiled_. “You put an amazing and, frankly, startling amount of focus into this. Under your guidance, maybe I could learn to vandalize in such a beautiful, graphic way…” she kept on, gesturing now and then to Sameen’s handiwork.  And there was that insufferable smile again.

“Not the teaching type,” Sameen mumbled. _And there’s no way in hell I’d spend more time with you than the time it’ll take for me to kick your ass or pay you to leave_.

The girl didn’t answer, just walked- impossibly- closer to the car and to Sameen.

She sighed in agitation. She’s stubborn enough not to move, but she hates the new proximity. The… warmth. It’s beyond her limited tolerance level. “What’ll it cost me to make you shut up and forget seeing me here?” Hopefully, it’d be cheap. She only had about fifteen bucks on her. Or, maybe, she would be asked to beat someone up on Smiley’s behalf. She wouldn’t admit it aloud, but she kind of liked acting as a sort of bully for hire- kicking the asses of other no-good kids like her to keep the school cycling smoothly and maybe get a few tattle tale nerds off her case.

“My name’s Root,” the other girl said, turning up a corner of her mouth in a kind of smirk. Nobody ever smirked in the direction of Sameen Shaw. And what the hell kind of name was ‘Root’?

“That’s _not_ what I-”

“Dinner.”

Now, Sameen turned herself fully around to look incredulously at Root, who was quickly becoming a nuisance.

“What. Do. You. Mean. _Dinner_.” She was tired of this dumb game or whatever Root was up to. _Just clean me out of my fifteen bucks and leave me alone._

There came that smile again. It was wide, it was playful, it was _pleased_. “Dinner. You know,” Root said, taking another step and collapsing the remaining safety net of space between them. “Where two people get together and go someplace to consume some food…”

_She’s kidding. She_ has _to be._ Sameen didn’t even attempt to make a retort. Her mental energy box was blowing a major fuse. Root didn’t back down, didn’t move away. She raised her hand up to Sameen’s face, and with a sickeningly gentle touch she wiped away the smudge of paint that had started to dry in the hot sun and had marked her like a personified Simba in inverted colors. Sameen quickly came to herself and slapped the hand away, scowling. “I’m not taking you to dinner, Root,” she spat.

“Aw, well, that’s too bad…” Root crossed her arms, pouting in overstated sadness. “Because, y’know, I work in the office for a few periods every day. And I seem to remember something Mr. Heedy said recently… Something about ‘the next time that Shaw girl comes in here, she’s getting suspended.’” She paused here, taking in Sameen’s annoyed eye roll. “Or something of the like. I’d hate to have to miss seeing you in the hallway.”

“You could always _not tell._ ” Sameen suggested.

Root only smiled in a way that let her know how very unlikely that was. “Monet’s. At four.” And with that, she began walking away, only turning back once to wink at a still frozen Shaw.

Well, of course she wasn’t going. Of _course_ not. Really, Root didn’t have any evidence other than her word as far as Shaw could tell. The word of a goody-goody, eccentric, and surprisingly flirty dork against the word of a routine troublemaker. That wasn’t enough for Mr. Heedy to suspend her. Was it?

Of course it was.

So did that mean she was going?

…Of course it did.

* * *

The cold air inside Monet’s Diner hit Shaw’s face with an unpleasant force. However, it didn’t sting half as much as did Root’s smug look and triumphantly sparkling eyes.

Sameen crossed the tile floor, hearing her footsteps thudding evenly and trying to swallow down the bile rising in her throat at the idea of being here on some kind of blackmail-enforced psychotic version of a date. With _Root_. Root, who had very quickly managed to jump straight to the top of Shaw’s mental kill list. Whatever. Maybe the night would be over soon and Sameen would never have to deal with this girl ever again. Here’s hoping.

Root, that enigma of a straight-A student, grinned warmly at Sameen as she sat in the opposite booth. There were glasses of ice water on the table already, along with two unopened straws and two laminated menus. “Glad you could make it,” she said.

Shaw grunted in reply, grabbing a menu and looking it over. It was equal parts exploration into what they served there and a way to avoid looking up at Root and her insistent smiling.

Nothing was said again between the two of them until a waitress came to take their order. Sameen ordered herself a steak, some fries, mac n cheese, and a second order of fries. Root opted for a chicken Caesar salad.

Now that the waitress had broken the sound barrier for them, Sameen spoke. “Why am I here, Root?” she asked, keeping her voice level and just a smidge hostile. It bothered her that she was so curious. Usually, she didn’t care. About much of anything. But this dopey, sure-fire computer geek had gotten into her head big time.

“Because you were spotted out by the principal’s car with a can of spraypaint, or don’t you remember?”

Playing dumb wouldn’t get her anywhere. Shaw kept quiet. She tore one end off her straw’s wrapper and discarded it to the side, blowing the uncovered end and launching the rest of the wrapper into Root’s face. It was a direct hit to the nose, which crinkled in annoyance. Sameen couldn’t stop her brain from recognizing that Root didn’t look half bad when she did that. Not that she looked bad in general anyway. _No. Stop that._

Dislodging the offending paper from her hair where it had come to rest after ricocheting smoothly off her nose, Root leaned in and rested her arms on the table. “I thought it would be nice,” she conceded.

Shaw snorted, shoving her straw into the glass with a force that made the ice clank loudly against its confines. She would’ve made some snarky comment about how, oh yes, she always found dinner dates super agreeable when forced into them, thank you, had not the waitress come back with their food.

While they ate, Root did her best to rope Shaw into a conversation, but she never got more than two or three words out of her before her face was once again stuffed. For such a tiny girl, Root thought to herself, Sameen certainly could pack away a lot of food. She gave up trying to have a nice chat after about the ninth attempt, rolling her eyes at whatever Shaw had grumbled into a mouthful of fries. Root was sure whatever the answer was, it had been rude. By the time Root’s plate was half cleared, Shaw had decimated every spec of nutrients available to her. Her dishes were clear enough to make the use of a dishwasher nearly obsolete. It was actually pretty impressive.

When she had finished, Sameen let herself fall back into the booth with a softened thump. She watched Root take a few more bites. After a small silence, she cleared her throat. “May I be excused?” she asked with feigned politeness. Root set her fork down slowly, smiling in a way that didn’t reach her eyes. Maybe, if Sameen Shaw wasn’t Sameen Shaw, she would’ve felt a little bad for dashing Root’s unfounded hopes for the evening. Root motioned to the waitress that they were ready for the check.

Sameen took only a glance at the check before pulling a few bills out of her wallet and laying them in the little tray. She stood up to go. Just before turning, she noticed with a pang of annoyance that Root was adding some of her own money to what little Sameen had left as a tip.

Their footsteps contrasted in timing as they both made their way across the tiled entrance back toward the door. Shaw didn’t bother to turn at any point to look at Root, but she couldn’t keep herself from watching Root’s sneaker-clad feet in her peripheral vision. Monet’s was actually a decent place, she decided. Maybe she’d come back some time. Sans Root, if she could help it.

The geek and the delinquent both stopped at the curb outside- Sameen because she’d forgotten where she parked, and Root because she wanted to observe Sameen. Shaw found her eyes flickering up to meet Root’s after she finally located her car. They were brown- not quite as dark as her own- and always seemed to have some kind of playful shine to them. It was obnoxious. …No, it was _charming_. These things were pretty much synonyms to Shaw.

Root once again reached out to touch Shaw, this time resting a hand on her shoulder. She leaned forward and placed a kiss on Sameen’s cheek. Part of it landed on the side of Sameen’s lips. Through her shock and the sickeningly sweet feeling coming from the place Root had kissed her, she wondered briefly if the miscalculation was really just an accident. Her ever-scowling countenance gave nothing away to Root, who said a quick “goodnight,” strolled over to her car, and drove away.

Sameen vowed that if Root ever tried anything like this again, she’d kick her ass.


	2. Caught in the Middle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Accidentally knocked you out when you got caught in the middle of a fist fight between me and this other kid during school. So I sat with you in the nurses office. Shut up!" Our favorite grump and flirt come together for an adventure that leaves them both all banged up (and not in the good way).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who left me comments on the last chapter- means a lot! Hopefully I won't let any of y'all down with the rest of the series.  
> Also, happy Easter!

A few days went by without any other close encounters of the nerd kind. Root had stayed true to their deal and hadn’t told anyone about Shaw’s little art foray. Of course, Mr. Heedy suspected Shaw from the second he saw the paint job, but since he didn’t have any evidence or eyewitnesses he really couldn’t do anything about it. So, it was back to blissful slacking off for one miss Sameen Shaw.

Or, it would have been. Should have been.

Shaw, try as she might, could not prevent her brain from circling through thoughts that always seemed to end up on Root. If it were possible for her to do so without ending up with a concussion and a psych eval, she would've punched herself in the head just to make good and sure that she would stop thinking about that damn smiling geek.

With a little bit of digging, Sameen found out that Root’s real name was Samantha. She wondered why she chose to go by Root. Then she wondered why she cared. Then she abandoned that school of thought entirely and forced herself to focus on the worksheet in front of her. It was about the presidents. Since she had no idea of any right answers and she was not about to ask anyone, she just wrote in ‘Millard Fillmore’ on every single line. One of them was bound to be right. She couldn’t be bothered to put in any more thought than that, really- it was already a big day for her. She hadn’t skipped a single class.

It wasn't that she was feeling particularly academic or enlightened or anything. She was out of unexcused absence days for the semester- and no way was she about to face her mother and tell her she’d gotten kicked out of school for cutting class. Mrs. Shaw was not a fan of Sameen’s antics, and Sameen, for her part, didn’t like to disappoint her mother. Plus, she figured, now she could scope out who was in each of her classes. Maybe there’d be someone good. Someone useful.

That’s what she told herself each time she scanned the faces of the students in every room she came to. There was, however, a tiny little betrayer in her head. The betrayer- that sick son of a bitch- assured her over and over that she was, in fact, keeping an eye out for _Root_. It was an itch in her mind she wanted to scratch until the flesh tore clean off. She couldn't stand it.

She knew it was _right_.

Of course, she saw Root fleetingly throughout the day in the halls. It wasn’t a big enough school _not_ to. She hated herself for it, but her stony resolve seemed to lessen each time she caught a flash of the lights in Root’s eyes, or saw wild tangles of brown hair flying as she raced up the stairs. They didn’t seem to have any classes together, though.

In the end, it wasn’t Sameen who found Root. It was Root who found Sameen.

Calculus class. Sameen didn’t actually mind it. Mrs. Lutz was easy enough to tolerate and she let her students work independently almost all the time. Independent work was the only kind of work Shaw was interested in. She only really skipped this class as often as she did because it was at the end of the day, and Shaw wasn’t about to drive away from school at lunch only to come back for math.

It was seventh period Calculus, while Shaw was starting the classwork written on the board, that the bully and the geek crossed paths once again.

Root, seemingly out of breath, pulled the door closed behind her just after the bell rang. Most other teachers would have made her go back and get a tardy slip, but Mrs. Lutz didn’t care. It was another thing Shaw liked about this particular class.

Shaw looked up. She took in Root’s smudged glasses, fly-aways, and slight redness of face. The two locked eyes for just a second. Root’s habit of grinning hadn’t gone away, evidently. Shaw set her jaw and looked back down to her paper, gripping her one good pencil just a bit too tight to successfully feign nonchalance.

The only open seat, as it happened, was right in front of Sameen’s. _Has she really sat there the whole year?_ She wondered. Once again, why did she care? Wasn’t it a good sign that she hadn’t ever noticed Root sitting there? It meant that her grudging attention very well could just be newfound hatred instead of actual interest. Right?

Root sat down in the seat in front of Shaw, getting a notebook out of a bag which she let fall to the ground with a plop after. When she realized Root wasn’t going to make any sort of flirty comment or anything, Shaw let out a breath she really hadn’t known she was holding. She didn’t let the betrayer convince her she was disappointed. She totally _wasn’t_.

When Root’s bag landed on the floor, a folded sheet of paper had fluttered out. Silently as possible, Shaw brought her foot forward, hoping she wasn’t visible in Root’s peripherals. She stepped down on the paper and slid it back towards herself, reaching down to pick it up. She looked around. Only one kid had seen her take the paper, and he quickly turned away at Sameen’s threatening sneer. She unfolded the paper with as little noise as anyone could make doing such a thing. It probably only sounded like a little crinkling to the rest of the class, but in her ears, even through the sound of her own blood pumping, she felt like it sounded like the first shot of World War Three. A new ‘shot heard round the world’.

It was Root’s schedule. Boring. Totally uninteresting. So very disposable in every way.

Shaw immediately started reading it.

Two periods of interning in the office. Seventh period, obviously, Calculus. One period of graphic/web design. The other three classes were Advanced Placement: Physics, English Lit, and Sociology. She had a zero period class, too- Computer Science. So, basically, a confirmed nerd.

“Impressed, Sam?”

Sameen cringed at the nickname. She took her hands off the paper as if they’d spontaneously combusted and looked up. “Don’t. Call me that.” She said through her teeth.

“Anything you say, sweetie. I’m gonna need that back, though.”

Shaw childishly grabbed the schedule into a wad and chucked it toward Root’s desk. It bounced off her shoulder and landed a little ways away on the ground. Neither of them moved to pick it up.

Root smirked, and they both went back to work. They didn’t speak for the rest of the period. As soon as the dismissal bell rang, Shaw jumped out of her seat, gathered up her stuff, and marched out the door-

\- straight into Big Mike.

Now, Big Mike was called Big Mike for good reason. He was at least a head taller than any student or faculty member at the school, and fatter, too. He was slow in wits but fast to fight.

He was insulted at the small girl’s force colliding into him. So, he did the only thing that Big Mike did well. He punched.

Shaw’s jaw exploded with pain as his fist made a connection. She threw her backpack off to the side, immediately bringing her fists up to let Big Mike know that she was not letting him walk away after one measly punch. She plunged her left fist into his massive gut, brought it back to herself, and threw in a right hook to his Adam’s apple- which was as high as she could reach on him. Howling in pain, Big Mike stumbled back. Shaw stepped forward, unrelenting. She kicked him in the groin and smiled as he doubled over, putting his face right in her strike zone. She pulled her arm back, ready to throw a critical blow, and put all her rage behind it.

Root Groves had seen the fight begin. She had placed her backpack right on top of Sameen’s and looked around for a teacher or administrator to call on to break it up. Seeing none, she stepped closer. She said something that might have been Shaw’s name and might have been a “stop!”- but whatever it was, it was lost in Sameen’s mighty roar as her fist swung forward. Lost along with her words was Root’s consciousness.

* * *

 

Root’s eyes snapped open and clamped immediately back shut. She brought a hand up to the left side of her face. It was warm and sore and, oh, was that dried blood? It was. Gross.

She squinted, letting her eyes get used to a little light before opening them all the way. She blinked a few times while wiping at the dried blood under her nose. Blinking hurt, she found. A black eye? What in the world had happened?

She heard a shuffling noise to her right and turned. There, on a plastic-covered chair that looked like it belonged in a 70s sitcom, sat Sameen Shaw. And, if Root wasn’t mistaken, there was something akin to concern in her features. There was a bruise forming on Shaw’s cheek, and her lip was split but the bleeding had slowed. Shaw dabbed at it every few seconds with a wadded up paper towel. Now, Root didn’t _think_ she had a blood kink, but… Damn if she had ever seen Sameen look hotter.

Shaw cleared her throat. Root had been staring too long at her lips. Root made herself look into Sameen’s eyes instead. They were calculating and cold as ever, but Sameen internally was scrambling to keep them from melting in Root’s warm gaze.

Root tried to grin, but when it reached her eyes the pain sparked up too much. Her nose did that crinkling thing again and Sameen felt like she had to punch something to stop her stomach from turning like it threatened to keep doing.

All the school nurse could ever do was hand out half-mushy ice packs, and Sameen threw one she had no use for over to the half-bed Root had been placed on. It hit her leg with a little too much force, but Root made no protesting sounds. She just picked it up and held it up to her eye, catching and containing a hiss at the freezing contact.

“Holding up, there, Fight Club?” Sameen spoke up in a gentler voice than Root would’ve expected.

Root nodded, letting up a little on the force she put into holding up the ice pack. She wasn’t a fan of the cold. “How’d I get here?” she asked. All she could remember was looking into Sameen’s pouty face and then a blinding crash of pain against her own. She certainly hadn’t walked there on her own, so…

“Aww, Sa _meen-_ ” her smile refused to be stopped, no matter the pain. “You _carried_ me to the nurse’s office, you big softie?”

Shaw was grateful in that moment more than any other that she didn’t blush. The way she couldn’t bring herself to meet Root’s eyes gave her affirmation away, anyhow. Root imagined a scene in her head that involved gently swelling music and being transported honeymoon-style. (In reality, Sameen had stepped over Root’s limp body, thrown in a last punch to Big Mike’s gut, and then dragged Root behind her by the arms all the way down the hall to the nurse. The only music accompaniment was some kid’s iPhone playing a Meat Loaf song too loudly through his busted headphones.)

Unable to handle Root’s smug face anymore, Sameen got up and walked a few paces to close the gap of space between them. She brought her hand up and pushed Root’s own hand down harder on the ice pack. “You’ll want to keep better pressure on that,” she muttered. “Don’t want a black eye to scar your pretty face too long.”

Root was overcome with giddiness. Maybe it was just the aftereffects of being knocked out, but her head was spinning. Shaw’s hand was on hers, and its warmth contrasted beautifully with the biting cold of the ice. This was short-lived, though. Sameen dropped her arm back down, and opened her mouth to say something else.

She opened it too far. Re-opened the split. Forgetting the ice pack entirely, Root reached to the bedside table and got a tissue from a frumpy pink dispenser. Shaw scowled, but Root started wiping away the blood before she could really protest. She could step away, of course, but… Well, whatever. She didn’t.

Standing there, with Root’s concerned face only a few inches away from her own, a feeling came over Sameen. It was insufferable. She wanted to crush her. She wanted to kiss her. She wanted to obliterate the space between them and- and she wanted this feeling to stop. She didn’t _do_ feeling.

She couldn’t _stop_ feeling.

Before she could act, the door opened and an unwelcome visitor strode over to the pair. Though both the feeling and Root’s gaze lingered, Shaw turned away to face the man who’d just arrived. Heedy.

“I hope you two realize that I will not tolerate this kind of behavior in my halls.”

Sameen swore the lady who played Janet, Chandler’s suckish girlfriend in _Friends,_ had less of a nasal problem than this man did. He could run even the best rhinoplasty specialist out of town just by speaking to them, she was absolutely sure of it.

“I fully expect to see _both_ of you,” he paused, looking between them and almost visibly deflating at Shaw’s evident lack of remorse, “in detention tomorrow evening.” He turned on his scuff marked and brittle knock-off brand shoe heel and headed out of the room.

Sameen didn’t turn back around to look at Root. She couldn’t. Not when she’d been that close to… to _doing something_.

She just gathered up her stuff, sighed, and failed to stop herself from saying, “See you tomorrow, I guess.” Then Sameen Shaw, battered and bruised, was gone again.


	3. Let's Get Out of Here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I pretty much live in detention and you’re a straight A student here on your first offense. Wanna add another and skip detention with me?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, thank you so so so much to everyone kind enough to comment and leave kudos, it really does mean a lot!
> 
> Also, I only really have like two more prompts set up (the next one of which I'm actually kinda psyched about), but I'm open for suggestions if you feel like I could do justice to any ideas you have- just drop me a message!

It was a Saturday. Sameen wanted nothing more than to be eating some kind of dinner, curling up with some book she had to write an essay on in which she’d have to bullshit her way through empathizing with a character. Or maybe just re-watching Die Hard for the third time that month.

Her mother, though, was absolutely adamant that she ought to serve her time in the penitentiary that so cleverly disguised itself as a school.

When she stepped into the detention space, Root was already there. Typical of a teacher’s pet, really- being _early_ to detention. Root didn’t seem to be as peppy as she usually was. There was no smile, no ‘fancy meeting you here’ comment, no nose crinkling. In fact- not that Sameen was looking too closely- her eyes had a sort of darker depth to them than Sameen had ever seen. Sameen didn’t hate that. There were three or four other kids in the room, including Big Mike. Shaw made it a point to scowl at him before walking toward a desk.

She had just plopped down on the chair one row back and to the left of Root when a scruffy, balding man walked in. Coach Greer. The guy was positively ancient and he simply refused to yield up his posh British accent. Nobody knew why in the hell Greer kept getting his job contract renewed year after year even though he could have retired long ago and he never actually remembered to do anything gym teachers are supposed to do anyway. That last bit was the only good thing about having that stuffy, dulled-down Dumbledore around. Nobody at Machinae County High School had had to run the mile in several generations.

Coach Greer had hardly set down his briefcase when Root shot up out of her seat and approached his desk. “Coach Greer,“ she began. Her voice was strained and somehow a biting edge was detectable underneath the phony politeness. “Coach Greer, I don’t think I should have to be here.” Shaw rolled her eyes. “I mean it isn't _necessary._ I didn’t _do_ anything wrong, I just-“

“Please have a seat, young lady.”

Root’s fists, at this point, were clenched by her sides, and that didn’t escape Shaw’s notice. If Root ended up in a brawl with a teacher, Shaw might just gain some respect for her. Adoration, even.

Shaw allowed herself to dwell on and imagine that very scenario, trying to determine whether it would be more badass if Root straight-up punched his wrinkled face or if she went for his toupee first.

Root, meanwhile, was biting down so hard on her tongue she could see nothing but hazy stars. Eventually, when Greer effectively shut her down by turning his back on her to write something in horrid chicken scratch on the board, she let her poor tongue go and all but stomped back to her seat. Her eyes caught on Sameen for a few seconds.

Sameen was pulled out of her fantastic daydreaming by the downright desolate expression Root was sporting. It weighed down on her stomach, like she’d just accidentally eaten a ball of lead or maybe even spontaneously developed a kidney stone. She absolutely _had_ to get rid of the feeling.

Pushing up from her seat with a huff, she wandered over to Root’s desk. “You’re cute when you get all upset,” she teased, catching Root rather off guard and savoring the moment. She noted with intensely annoying clarity that a flustered Root was in league with that feeling you get when you see an unlikely animal friendship pairing. If this was the feeling people always referenced as ‘butterflies’, Shaw was going to need to hire, miniaturize, and swallow a whole team of exterminators to set her guts on fire and get rid of them. Maybe it was these same pesky butterflies that made her unable to choke down the words that came out of her mouth next. “Wanna get out of here?”

Root blinked, the darkness in her eyes being replaced by calculation and surprise. She couldn’t help her initial grin, but she also couldn’t help looking over Sameen’s shoulder at Greer. This was her first time in detention- like, _ever_. (Not that she didn’t ever do anything deserving of reprimand- she just didn’t ever get caught.) She didn’t really know how the whole thing worked, but she was very confident that the Coach wasn’t just going to let two students walk out. Root looked back up at Sameen, letting her eyes do the questioning.

Shaw just scoffed, turned, and walked out the door.

Just…just _walked out_. Like it was nothing. Like the detention hall was her home and she could come and go as she pleased.

Root’s heart was jumping like an instructor in an extreme-level Zumba class. She watched as the door closed behind Sameen. Greer didn’t even turn around. Her eyes kept snapping from Greer to the door, back to Greer, back to the door. She took a calming breath that didn’t calm her at all, and told herself that if the Coach didn’t turn around by the time she counted to five, she would follow after Shaw.

One.

…Two.

Th- _screw it._

She wasn’t going to let Sameen walk away that easy; she was nothing if not persistent. And, anyway, what was she going to get out of sitting in a room with a bunch of delinquents for three nauseating hours? She got up, took one last cautious look at Greer’s sweater-vested, hunched-over back, and slipped out the door.

Nothing happened. No alarms, no shouting, no SWAT team barreling in from impressively impossible angles out of rafters or vents. As if by the hand of an indecisive boy scout, the knot that had started tying itself in Root’s stomach untangled itself.

Sameen was already halfway down the hall. Root kicked her long legs into overdrive. There was no way to be cool about it, either- her heels made harsh clicking noises at an embarrassingly fast tempo as she rushed closer to Shaw. When, finally, they were more or less shoulder-to-shoulder, Shaw turned her head and sent a smirk Root’s way that made her heart flutter in a whole new way.

“Where are we going, Sam?” Root hoped she was only imagining the wavering in her voice.

Her hopes were dashed when Sameen raised an eyebrow and replied, “Relax. I think playing Prisonbreak was a good enough first step into anarchy for today. Give your little geeky heart a break.”

_How am I supposed to do that, Sameen, when you’re around?_ Root thought to herself. She also noted with a great deal of satisfaction that Shaw hadn’t bothered to comment on her use of a nickname. Had she finally managed to bust her way through Sameen’s twelve-round obstacle course of an emotional defense?

The tempest in Shaw’s stomach seemed to want to thunder with a resounding ‘Yes’. She gave into the betrayer in her brain- even _she_ was tired of being so damn stubborn against it at this point- and admitted to herself that _fine; maybe Root would be alright to hang around for a little while_. But…she didn’t have to tell Root that.

“We’re just going home,” she continued. Her insides might as well have been repurposed into a zoo attraction for butterflies at this point. The flutter of their wings threatened to make her falter in stride as she saw Root break into a grin just as she turned away. She took a second to think a quick ‘ _Why the hell am I doing this’_ and an even quicker ‘ _Shut up, brain_.’ If she thought about it too much, she felt she would positively keel over and die.

The pair soon reached Sameen’s car- a black Volkswagen something-or-other. It trapped in heat in the summer, which sucked, but it got decent mileage and hadn’t broken down on her yet. She unlocked the doors and threw her backpack into the backseat. She noticed Root tugging a little hesitantly at her lip with her teeth, and she just barely hid the smile of satisfaction she felt coming on at the accomplishment of once again having Root as the flustered one instead of herself. “Either hop in or go tell Big Mike I said hello,” she said, settling down into the driver’s seat. A few seconds later, Root tugged open the passenger side door and joined her. She was just a bit too tall to fit comfortably, so her legs jackknifed back towards her body. She kept her backpack balanced on her knees.

They kept silent the whole way out, Sameen’s eyes carefully watching the road and Root’s quickly observing the world as it passed by her window. The sun was bright and made golden spots in her vision, but she made herself keep her face angled away from Shaw so that she could smile widely and freely. She didn’t want to annoy Shaw into changing her mind, and the shorter girl seemed sort of easily peeved by displays of emotion. Root really couldn’t help it, though. Sure, she was a little afraid of the consequences of ditching detention, but she decided she just didn’t want to care about that in this moment. She wanted to focus on caring about _Sameen_.

When Sameen pulled up to a gated community that was decidedly out of Root’s family’s price range, she finally broke the silence. “Don’t make a habit of coming around here, Root,” she said in a warning tone that only had a faint hint of playfulness, “I don’t want to have to deal with my mom asking questions all the time about when and how I started making friends.”

Pretty much the only thing Root took from that warning was that they were _friends_.

They came to a stop in a driveway and climbed out of the Volkswagen. Root watched as Sameen unlocked the door. The place had minimalistic furniture, and it actually seemed fitting for Shaw, somehow.

Root pulled the door closed behind them. When she turned to face Sameen, she noticed that Sam was already on the couch at the far end of the room, tugging off her boots. Root unhooked her sandals from around her ankles and left them neatly by the door, placing her backpack beside them before she went over and sat as close as she dared.

“You pick the movie.” Sameen’s voice was unwavering and calm in stark contrast to the heightened feelings Root was hopped up on. “My mom will be back here in like three hours, so don’t choose Gone with the Wind or some shit.” Yeah, her voice was calm, but she was feeling anything but.

Root stood up again, crossed the carpeted floor, and started rifling through the Shaws’ movie collection. She could feel Sameen’s eyes following her movements and she smiled to herself, taking her time and running her finger slowly over every row of titles before settling on one and pulling it out.

The Wizard of Oz. Shaw rolled her eyes, but didn’t stop Root from setting it up in the player.

When Root made her way back to the couch, she was mostly back to being her old flirty self. She gave Sameen a sort of half-smile, half-smirk and sat down right up next to her.

She had meant to just sit a few inches away, within Shaw’s personal space but not exactly _invading_ it, but she had overshot. When she plopped down, their legs were touching, their arms were skin-on-skin, and their knuckles knocked together for a brief, electrifying second before they both moved their wrists.

Both of them were too stubborn to move away. Neither of them actually even _wanted_ to move away. Shaw told herself it was a matter of pride, and swallowed down her protests as the movie started. Root was thankful that they hadn’t bothered turning the lights on as she felt her face redden. Of course, there was some light filtered in through the windows, but surely the general dimness of the room hid her blush.

The movie began, Judy Garland sang melodiously and timelessly, and nobody was really paying attention. Their touch was burning, and agonizingly distracting. Finally, Shaw spoke up once more. “Root?” Her voice came out a little quieter than she liked, so she began again. “Root.”

The geek in question’s only reply was a soft “Hm?”

Shaw turned to face her, and was it Root’s imagination, or did she actually lean into Root’s side a little more? “Did you replace the plasma in your bloodstream with Five Hour Energy, or something?”

Root was too focused on the touch of Sameen’s arm on hers to answer or ask for an explanation. Shaw provided one anyway. “Your pulse is inhumanly fast right now.”

Root’s vocal chords seemed to still be frozen, and Shaw decided to play around with the girl a little bit. Test out some boundaries. She smirked as she took Root’s hand in her own. _She may be the most annoyingly overt flirter around,_ Shaw thought to herself, _but she’s all talk and no action_. Root’s pulse spiked impossibly higher at the new contact. Somehow, Shaw felt calmer and calmer as she sensed Root getting more and more nervous.

Movie forgotten, Shaw leaned closer. Closer.

Their eyes remained open and locked on each other as their lips met.

Root’s eyes were searching at first, yearning to find a clue that might help her figure out the ultimate enigma of Sameen Shaw. After a few seconds, they darkened and regained that bottomless, intense factor that Shaw had noticed earlier.

Sameen’s eyes were defiant, seemingly daring Root to break it off, or maybe even to push back. There was also a certain softness in them Root had never noticed before. She would be content to stare awhile and figure it out.

As suddenly as the contact had been made, it went away. Their eyes stayed connected, though. There was a warmness- heavenly for the lightheaded Root and hellish for Sameen- that lingered on their skin from each other’s touch. Eventually, Sameen stomped out every last butterfly as well as she could, and she leaned back into the couch with a short laugh.

The remainder of the movie passed them by the way a long train passes you when you’re already fifteen minutes late for work. It was background noise for the buzzing and incoherent thoughts in Root’s brain as she kept peering over at Sameen and biting at her lip. It was a welcome distraction for Sameen as she made it a point _not_ to look over at Root. When, at last, the credits rolled, Root felt like she had a bit more of a grip on the situation. She stared at Shaw openly and intensely, until she couldn’t help but turn to face her.

“Need a ride home?”

The question and its blunt tone would’ve stung Root if she hadn’t figured out that Shaw’s coldness was a defense mechanism. Sameen _cared_ for her, she just knew it. So, she just grinned and shook her head.

“I’m fine with walking,” she answered. She snuck a glance down at Sameen’s lips, noticing that there was still a small scar from her fight with Mike. She couldn’t help herself. She grinned again and took the lead on their second real kiss. Sameen fought against responding at first, but as Root deepened the kiss and placed her hand against that part where her jawline met her neck, she gave in and reciprocated. This time, her eyes stayed open but Root’s closed languidly. Again, it was over decidedly quickly.

It was Root’s turn to smirk as she slowly pulled back and stood up. She didn’t look back all the way to the door, but she could once again feel Sameen’s eyes on her as she retrieved her shoes and turned the doorknob.

“Goodnight, sweetie.”

Just before the door closed, Root heard a mumbled reply. “Don’t get all sappy on me.”


	4. Geek's Garden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Me and my buddies vandalized your backyard, trampling your mini garden in the process. Now I feel really shitty 'cause you’re really upset about this. Look I’ll help fix it okay just stop with the sad faces."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You're all angels sent from above and I thank you for sticking with this even though I don't think that last one was quite up to par. I'm happy with this one though, so get to reading and please enjoy!!
> 
> Next one I plan on doing is one of the prompts that was suggested to me by one of y'all, and I'll use a few more of those suggestions as they fit too! Thanks to everyone who suggested things and otherwise commented- you're the best.

Shaw was positively going to _murder_ whoever had the nerve to be using a jackhammer this close to her house this early in the morning. M u r d e r.

…Wait. Change of plans. The pounding she heard and felt was only in her head.

It _hurt_. It felt like some happy-go-lucky beekeeper maniac had hosted a giveaway where the prize was just a Bunch of Freakin’ Bees, and Shaw had won despite never actually entering that satanic raffle. It didn’t matter. The Bees were content with their new location inside Shaw’s skull, and they were having some sort of hardcore mosh pit to celebrate the move.

Of course, this wasn’t actually the work of any crazed beekeeper. It was just plain old alcohol- a good, old-fashioned hangover. Sameen wanted nothing more than to shut her eyes, maybe sew her ears shut, too, and sleep it off. But she could hear her mother’s footsteps approaching from down the hall, so she cursed the bees and her own irresponsibility and got up. She kind of wanted to puke. Instead, she just clenched her stomach muscles and gritted her teeth and yanked a black hoodie off its hanger.

Her mom, already dressed and ready to leave for the day, knocked on the door to Sameen’s room only once before letting herself in. “Bye, kiddo, see you after school,” she said. She may as well have just announced to the Bees that there would be free pollen for life what with the way they jumped around and stung at Shaw’s brain from all angles. Sameen didn’t let her pain show, but instead gave a weak smile and allowed herself to be hugged because she knew it made her mom happy.

Once Mrs. Shaw had left (unfortunately with a slam of the front door that felt like a sonic boom instead), Sameen pulled on some clean-ish jeans and promptly set about searching for aspirin. She found some in the medicine cabinet in her bathroom, swallowed a tablet or two, and greedily chugged down some water from the sink. She wiped the excess water off her face and rested her forehead against the glass of the mirror for a few seconds. She swore to herself she’d never drink again. …At least for a little while.

Sighing, she stepped away from the mirror, out of the bathroom, down the hall, and back into her room. There, she finished getting ready as quickly as she could make herself move, grabbed her phone and her backpack and went for the door. As she walked, she clicked her phone’s home button, aiming to check the time and gauge whether she would need to stop by the front office for a late pass right off the bat. Instead, much to her surprise, she found a few texts waiting there. Shaw didn’t text very much. She _got_ texts regularly, really, but usually she’d just read them and not bother to respond.

There were three from John Reese- who was pretty much the only person she could generally stand to be around, and who had invited her and a bunch of other kids over for drinks in the first place. Usually, Johnny didn’t actively engage in things like underage drinking (let alone host events involving it), but he was currently being a giant pissbaby about his on-again-off-again relationship with Zoe Morgan. They were off again now, John’s parents had gone out of town, and John had little impulse control when unchecked. Not that Shaw was really complaining. She’d needed the opportunity to drink after dealing with Root. Whom, by the way, she had decided to go back to ignoring. Alcohol had shown her the light.

**John:** Shaw, did you leave?  -- _9:27 PM_

**John:** Oh nvm youre just by the keg again brooding over something I guess  -- _9:31 PM_

**John:** check it out you’re actually not pouting for 1nce _\--11:55 PM_

The last one had an attached picture, which she clicked on. She actually _was_ kind of smiling in it, which was weird in and of itself, but she was also in what looked to be someone’s back yard. It wasn’t John’s, she knew that much. It kind of looked like there were flowers and stuff around her, too, though they were a little squished and the dirt around them looked like it had been recently trampled by a thundering herd of teenagers. Shaw didn’t remember any of that happening. She guessed they’d decided to trash someone’s yard. Drinking parties tended to always end up with someone having a dumb idea like that.

There was also a message from Fusco. Shaw didn’t hang around with him much directly, but he was pretty much known for hovering around John and grudgingly going along with schemes other troublemakers came up with. His first name was Leon or Lincoln or something like that; Shaw couldn’t be bothered to remember it even when she was fully sober and not bee-infested.

**Fusco:** Cjnfkvm ak _\--11:18 PM_

Very well stated, Fusco.

She chalked that less-than-award-winning speech up to the affects of drinking, and promptly deleted it. By that time, she’d reached her car, so she locked her phone again and drove off to school.

* * *

 

Thanks to a handy little trick called Speeding, Shaw actually made it to school early enough to stop by her locker. Six- One- Fifteen, a quick tug on the lock, and she was in. She dumped most of what was in her bag into the tiny space of the locker, and was reaching for her science book when she felt a hard clap on her shoulder. She turned, ready to lay on a level of sass that would saw off the next four branches of the miscreant’s family tree. But it was only John, and he looked about as good as her head felt. He had the whole ‘sunglasses inside, last night’s shirt, everyone-knows-I-am-hungover-but-won’t-do-anything-about-it-because-I’m-on-track-for-a-football-scholarship’ look going on.

“How do you always manage to avoid looking like shit, Shaw?” He asked gruffly. Sameen just smiled and finished packing up her stuff, slamming the locker a tad too hard just to see John cringe. The bees threatened to start sharpening their stingers in her brain, but for the most part the aspirin had taken care of them. Anyway, it was worth it just for Johnny’s pained face.

“You remember anything?” John went on, rubbing at his temples.

Shaw shook her head. “Just that I drank a lot, and apparently had a hand in messing up someone’s flowerbed.”

John did one of those smiles where anyone who didn’t know him would mistake it for a grimace of pain. He looked about ready to say something else, but his eyes caught on something behind Shaw and he settled back into silence.

Sameen turned to look for whatever it was that John’s eyes were following, assuming it’d probably be someone carrying a particularly appetizing breakfast burrito or something. What she _did_ see made her hands clench into fists by her sides.

_Root_.

She shouldn’t care. She _didn’t_ care, really. As according to her alcohol-induced epiphany, she was done with Root and every feeling that came with. So why the hell was she suddenly overcome by a surge of nervous- _NO,_ not nervous- _angry_ energy just because Root was walking past her in a hallway? Stupid.

She forced her hands back into being relaxed, but she couldn’t make herself stop watching Root. It was probably just because she wanted to intimidate her with her smoldering glare, that’s all.

Root…well, she didn’t look herself. She didn’t look as worn as John did, not by a long shot, but she was certainly not her peppy, impeccably dressed self. Shaw almost forgot to keep being angry when their eyes met and Root immediately set her jaw and looked away. She looked hurt.

That wasn’t fair! Root didn’t get to be the one to look away and be _hurt_ when Shaw was _angry_. Sameen kicked her heel back into the locker with an echoing clang, John’s headache be damned. He let out a little bit of a groan, and she didn’t bother with any parting words as she stalked off after Root to give her a piece of her mind.

She had to weave in between several groups of slow-walking kids, but she eventually caught up with Root just before the girl was about to walk into the library. She snagged Root’s elbow and squeezed it, letting go only when Root turned around. Neither said anything, and both were fuming. After a tense silence, Shaw jerked her chin up and gestured to Root as she spoke an ever-so-eloquent, “What’s up with you?”

Root couldn’t believe it. She knew Shaw was pretty much an unfeeling machine of a person, but this was just… _shockingly_ cold. “What’s ‘up’ with me?” she repeated in a mocking tone, sneering as Shaw rolled her eyes. “Well, it is _so_ kind of you to ask, Sameen, but I don’t want to take up your valuable frowning time to talk about my feelings.”

She turned on her heel and, in a whirlwind of hair, retreated into the library.

* * *

 

Sameen spent the whole stupid day trying to figure out what it was that had pissed Root off so badly. The geek wasn’t supposed to be all broody and upset, she was supposed to be infuriatingly bouncy and shit. Shaw just wanted things to go back to normal.

When, finally, it came to be seventh period, she felt like she could breathe again. She could figure this out, and then she could retire back into stony silence. She wasted no time.

The second Root settled into her chair, Shaw leaned forward. She had to talk a little quietly because Mrs. Lutz was already trying to lecture. “Root? Root-“

“I don’t want to talk to you, Sameen.”

Root’s dismissal was done coolly, effectively, and loudly. Mrs. Lutz kept going, but students on all sides turned to raise their eyebrows and otherwise jeer at Root’s outburst. Sameen glared at each of them in turn until they came to their senses and turned away.

“Well, you don’t have to shout.”

Sameen thought her muttered comment had been too quiet for Root to take notice of, but the other girl turned around and peered at her over her glasses, pouting. Shaw felt like shit and she wanted to make the dumb smile she hated so much come back. It was way easier to deal with that than it was to know she’d done something to shut that down. In other words, it was way easier to be annoyed than it was to admit she hated causing Root pain. But instead of breaking, she just smirked and actively dumped a buttload of gasoline on Root’s metaphorical, emotional rage fire.

Root scoffed, turned back around, and shut Shaw out for the rest of the period. No matter how many times Shaw ‘accidentally’ kicked the legs of her chair, drummed excessively on her desk, or coughed like she was clearing her throat, it didn’t work. She was as impossible to reach as that one cute shirt in your size on the top rack of an absurdly tall department store section, and there was no employee with a metal pole-and-hook around to help out.

The bell rang after a while. The class left, even Mrs. Lutz stepped out, and nobody was left in the classroom except for two bitter, brunette girls.

Shaw was about to give in and leave, too, but Root did eventually speak. Without turning around, she sighed and said, “Sameen, do you even remember what you did? Or were you too blackout drunk to remember little things like vandalizing someone’s yard and trampling their garden?”

Shaw froze. _That was **Root’s** yard?? _Well……..good. Yes, that was just fine. She didn’t care. That was how it ought to be. She and her band of misfits and rabble-rousers had partied, gotten drunk, and decided to mess with some loser by trashing some flowers. It was a natural progression of events. It wasn’t her fault that the house they ended up at that night was Root’s. It wasn’t her fault that Root was a nerd.

But the problem was- she _did_ care. She really did.

“Shit. Root, I’m s-“

“You know, if this is about the whole kissing thing, we can just forget it ever happened. Or, no- it’s about your reputation isn’t it? Because I’m sort of a Renaissance girl anyway, alright, so maybe I’ll just take up smoking and start wearing fishnets and leather. Or maybe I could, I don’t know, _graffiti the principal’s car_? I hear that’s a hip thing with the cool kids these days…”

“Yeah, you’d look hot in leather.”

Root stood up, not finding Shaw’s little joke funny at all. She already hated having to be serious and confront Sameen, and the girl’s stubbornness was just another punch to her gut. She collected her things and walked out the door. She still never looked back at Sameen.

* * *

 

There were noises in Root’s yard again. She considered talking to her parents about just giving up and moving away- at least to a different neighborhood. But her parents would never go for that. So, she opened her curtains and shoved her window open, too. She could go for a little yelling right now anyway.

Except there was no party of slurring teenagers to greet her this time. Just…Sameen.

Sameen with dirt smudges on her face.

Sameen who was ripping open a packet of seeds with her teeth.

Root grinned. Whatever Shaw was planting wouldn’t grow- she hadn’t dug deep enough into the soil for anything to root properly- but that didn’t matter. “I didn’t know anyone could look so good while gardening, Sam.” It wasn't her best line, but, hey, she was pressed for time.

Her voice carried over to where Shaw was squatting, and she looked up to see that the admiration in Root’s eyes was back, and so was that smile that made her inside wires short out. Maybe, she thought, ‘normal’ had changed for her. Normal, now, was hanging around with Root and not messing things up too badly. She wasn’t going to get all soft or anything, but she’d at least try not to be as much of an ass if she could help it.

“I like to think I can make _anything_ look good,” she answered, pushing hair out of her eyes and tucking it back behind her ear. She paused. “We good?”

Root smiled even wider, acted like she was thinking it over, then nodded. “Yes, sweetie, we’re fine. … _If_ you’re actually going to remember this tomorrow. You’re not drunk, are you? ‘Cause I know how you-“

“ _Root._ ”

“Alright, alright… You’re a terrible gardener, though.”

“Well you _could_ come help instead of just watching.”

“Nah. I’m liking the view from here.”


	5. Complex Machines

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I have no idea what to do for this assignment but I can't blow it off. No, I do not want your help. No. ...But shit I actually really need your help, please partner up with me?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to the following remarkable people with their snazzy suggestions:  
> -FrellingFarscapeFan (Root trying to help Shaw with homework?)  
> -InuGhost (Shaw needs to do a research project and Root finds out and essentially volunteers to help Shaw with it. Shaw of course being reluctant to accept the help even though she needs it.)  
> And, bonus:  
> \- AlexRyzlinGold ("thanks for your wifi password but I've been stealing other people's wifi for the past few years and I've already connected to yours")  
> I'll try to fill more prompts later on!

“How do you _do_ that?”

Sameen looked up in acknowledgement of Root, took in the mischief that was always lurking behind those syrupy-sweet eyes, and looked back down at her paper as if she had any idea of what to write on it. “Do what?”

“Manage to look even cuter when you’re concentrating than when you’re just making your usual pouty face,” Root answered, as if shocked that the question even needed to be posed aloud. Her voice was warm enough to make any girl blush with the fury of a thousand white suns.

Any girl except Sameen Shaw, anyway. Shaw just rolled her eyes and smirked. “You know, I hear that I look even _cuter_ when I’m kicking someone’s ass,” she replied, her tone somewhere between joking and threatening.

“I’ll bet.”

Sameen let the conversation fall, trying to force her mind into making something out of the assignment sheet in front of her but not having much luck. Root came bouncing closer and circled until she was standing just behind Shaw. In the weeks following the Garden Incident, the two had become closer and developed something akin to friendship. Sort of. Root had an admiration for Shaw and Shaw had a not-hatred of Root. At any rate, neither of them actively pushed the other away. In fact, Root had started showing up in Sameen’s third period study hall. (Root had, in a moment of impulsive indulgence, hacked into the school’s system and changed her own schedule to cultivate the opportunity. She didn’t really like interning in the office all that much anyhow, and this way she would get to see Sam more.) Sameen never questioned it and after a while the other students stopped their whispering and theorizing about what blackmail Root could possibly have that would make someone like Sameen Shaw willing to sit with and talk to her.

Now, Root leaned over until she was resting against Shaw’s back, her head peering at the paper from above Shaw’s right shoulder. “What’re you working on, sweetie?” she asked, squinting at the words as she had forgotten her glasses that morning.

Sameen side-eyed her, mentally willing Root to move away. The telepathic message didn’t go through. Or, more accurately, Root blatantly ignored it. She sighed, reaching up to push Root’s head away and opting to do so by shoving her whole palm none-too-gently into the side of Root’s face.

Root relented with a cheeky grin and walked a little ways around the table to her own chair, snatching the paper from Shaw’s grasp before fully sitting down. “Oh, is this that physics project thing?” she asked, finally making out what the blurry words said. She looked up from them back to Shaw, who nodded her assent. “Annnnd…” she drew out the word, like she was dragging around something heavy. “Aren’t you supposed to have an idea outlined and written down to turn in today?”

Shaw set her jaw. “Yep.” She saw the smugness hidden behind Root’s inquisitive expression. Root gestured to the blank lines where Shaw’s idea was supposed to be, raising an eyebrow. Shaw could feel both Root and the lines themselves mocking her, and she didn’t like it. She yanked her paper back, scowling.

“Sa _meen_ ,” Root sing-songed.

Sameen knew what was coming. “No.”

“Sweetie-“

“ _No_.”

Shaw looked Root in the eye, shooting daggers with her glare. Root tried very weakly to hide a smirk. Once again, she ignored Shaw’s telepathic massages. It was like their brains were walkie-talkies on different frequencies.

“Mrs. Claypool said we could work in pairs,” Root said before Sameen could interrupt to cut her off again. She dangled the words like bait in front of a starving shark that was being played, in this scenario, by Sameen. They both knew Shaw needed the help. She couldn’t slack off on this assignment- it was worth twenty percent of her grade. But Root could stuff it, because this shark wasn’t going to bite. She’d rather die.

“She _also_ said that if we worked with anyone outside of our own class, we’d have to present in both periods. As enticing as spending several hours with you and then having to do double the speaking is, I’m really going to have to pass.”

Root just laughed, shaking her head like she knew Shaw was going to call on her later. She let it go, though, and they went through the rest of study hall in silence. Shaw, in an attempt to resist utter defeat, scribbled on her paper so it looked like she had something written. She’d figure something real out later, when Root wasn’t so close and so distractingly _there_.

* * *

Science class came three periods later. The paper was still blank.

Mockingly, laughably blank. She couldn’t even try to bribe a nerd into doing it for her because all she had in her pockets was eight dollars and a movie ticket stub to something she’d seen by herself that week.

Mrs. Claypool called out the names one by one off the roster, and one by one the kids spouted off words that Shaw was sure they were making up. They’d turn in their papers and Claypool would check off their names and move to the next, always no-nonsense and a tight frown. Sameen wondered sometimes if the reason Mrs. Claypool didn’t have frown lines was because the tightness of her updo kept them from forming.

In any event, the S’s were creeping closer and Shaw still had absolutely nothing. She looked around. Her eyes latched onto this one kid, Keith Zambnan, and she decided that whether this kid liked it or not she was going to make him be her partner. He’d have to take her, or else he’d have to call her a liar in front of the whole class. If he had the balls to do that, he deserved to.

“Shaw, Sameen.”

“I-“

“Oh, that’s right- miss Groves already told me you two were partnering up. Stevenson, May.”

Groves? Who the— _Root_. Of freaking course. Root had just gone ahead and shoved the bait down the shark’s throat.

Yeah, sure, Shaw really did need the help. And, okay, with Root on her team she was pretty much guaranteed a good grade. But that didn’t mean she wasn’t going to be bitter as a coffee made by Lucifer himself about it.

* * *

 

Root strode into Shaw’s room the way a stray cat would if it decided your home looked cozy. She was sporting an absurdly large bag filled with who-the-fresh-hell-knows-what on one shoulder and carrying a laptop in her other hand. Her hips moved in a way that made her walk into more of a sashay.

Shaw kicked herself for bothering to notice Root’s hips. She backed up her mind and started to protest Root’s sudden entry.

“Your mom let me in- she seems nice,” Root explained quickly, setting her bag down on the floor and flopping onto the bed right up next to Sameen, as close as they’d sat on the day they were supposed to be in detention. Shaw said nothing. Root opened up her laptop and opened up an internet tab.

“The wifi pas-“

“Unnecessary,” Root smiled. She looked up from her typing and said with an air of confidence, “I’ve been stealing other people’s wifi for years, Sameen- I’ve already connected to yours. A five digit passcode is hardly maximum security.”

Awesome. Root was not only a weirdo but was also a hacker and someone who took up half of Sameen’s bed with her legs alone.

“Here,” Root said, redirecting the conversation to their project by tilting her screen Sameen’s way.

“The hell is Ruby Goldberg?” Shaw mumbled, looking at example pictures that successfully told her nothing.

Root rolled her eyes. “ _Rube_ Goldberg,” she corrected, tilting her screen back and clicking some more things until a new page popped up that had a complicated-looking diagram on it. “It’s a complex machine made to accomplish a simple task, and it’s our project.”

Shaw could already feel boredom weighing down her bones. She felt like she might just sink right into her mattress and out of this dimension. She let out a groan instead of a response, which Root chose to interpret as agreement.

Root set the laptop with the diagram on Shaw’s stomach and hopped up, dumping her giant bag out and adding to the vortex of random crap that was already dominating Shaw’s room. Out of the bag came tumbling books, pencils, a remote-controlled car, a single shoe, a watering can, dominoes, and a yo-yo. There were also boxes of snack cakes and about fifty individual packs of beef jerky.

Maybe Shaw could learn to enjoy physics.

Sameen shoved the laptop aside and let it thump onto her bed, forgetting to be bored and instead looking forward to sitting back and eating as Root did their science project. She tore into one of the snack cakes. “Complex machine, huh?” she said, as though she cared. (With her mouth full of cake, it sounded more like “Compfiks mashh, mm?” but Root caught the gist.)

“Could take all night.”

The two shared a smile for a quick moment, then got to work. It was a lot of Root trying to explain science-y things and tossing out vocabulary and a lot of Shaw being asked to set things up in a certain order and to chew with her mouth closed. Shaw did what she was asked, but couldn’t make herself pay attention to what Root was trying to teach. She just watched her mouth move instead, and watched the way Root’s eyes lit up on certain topics and the way her hands moved when she tried to illustrate a certain point more clearly. She made a game out of it after a while- every time Root’s nose crinkled she took an extra large bite of whatever she happened to be eating at the moment. It was like a drinking game but with less hangover and more calories.

Once the machine was built to their liking, they set up Root’s laptop’s webcam and recorded as many takes as it took to successfully complete a simple task, which turned out to be thirty seven takes. Thirty seven times they had to reconfigure this contraption, bit by bit, until it could complete its task of pushing open a book. Something Shaw could’ve done in two point six seconds with her pinky, but which was, apparently, necessary to be done in a backwards, convoluted way for the sake of a good grade.

Physics was still stupid.

By the time they’d gotten all that sorted out, it was almost midnight. Root called her house, but nobody answered on the other end. Root actually looked kind of sheepish when she asked to sleep over.

Anyone else, sheepish or not, would’ve been kicked out anyway. Shaw almost just told Root to go anyway; she was a big girl, she could walk home. But…something in her wouldn’t allow it. Something about the way that Root wasn’t playing this as a way to flirt or annoy Shaw made her listen. Made her consider. Made her agree.

They fell asleep not too long after that, and although Shaw had meant to make Root sleep on the floor they ended up just staying side by side in the bed. It wasn’t that bad. It was warm, at least.

Shaw was the big spoon.

* * *

In the morning, Sameen’s mom woke them up. They crossed paths now and then and bumped into each other while getting ready. Root had to wear the same pair of jeans she’d come over and slept in (because Shaw's legs were adorably tiny and short), but Sameen let her pick out a hoodie from her closet and put it on.

It didn’t look half bad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next update won't be until next Friday- I've got a paper to focus on writing this weekend. Thanks for sticking with me, y'all!


	6. It's Just a Fling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I'm a super tough punk who hates school dances. But, also, you're making the eyes at me and I have an embarrassing weakness for you so fINE, I will /go/, but I won't /dance/."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FrellingFarscapeFan suggested "School Dance" as a prompt, so here we are! I wasn't planning on doing this chapter yet, but I am not in control of the Muse. Also thrown in are tidbits of other suggestions: "kissing" and "protective Shaw", so thanks to y'all who suggested those as well.
> 
> \--Warning: later in the chapter, a dickbag uses a derogatory term for lesbians. He also gets righteously punched in the face, though, so...

**One New Text Message**

Shaw read these words while still half-asleep under the covers. She was sprawled out comfortably and had one eye cracked open just enough to see things with a little bit of residual blurriness, kind of like an extra in the background of a battle scene who was supposed to be a convincing fatality but was rather uncommitted to the role. It was a Sunday, and usually on Sundays she didn’t wake up until a time late enough for her mother to crack a joke about her being a nocturnal creature- unless she was woken up by something cooking in the kitchen that smelled so good her stomach shook her brain awake with rapturous force.

Nevertheless, she willed her arm to move even though it wanted to stay weighed down by sleepy inactivity. She unlocked her phone and opened her eye the rest of the way, though she kept the other one screwed shut in stubborn refusal to fully be conscious.

**John:** How do I look? Sharp, right? – _8:14 AM_

There was an attached image of John taking a mirror selfie. He was wearing a tux that looked a little tight around the middle and arms. Sameen let out an annoyed breath and replied.

**Shaw:** Almost as sharp as the knife I’m going to stab you with for waking me up for this shit. – _8:14 AM_

Her eyes started to droop again, but her phone was a ruthless jail warden keeping her locked in a prison of consciousness.

**John:** c’mmon, Shaw. It’s for Spring Fling next week and I need to know if I look decent before I commit a hundred bucks – _8:15 AM_

**Shaw:** Is this it?? Have I finally achieved my lifelong aspiration of becoming a personal stylist?? Holy shit. Someone pinch me, I must be dreaming. This is too great to be true. I’m going to throw up with excitement. – _8:16 AM_

**Shaw:** No, wait…yep, that’s disgust. – _8:16 AM_

**John:** Hilarious. Your sense of humor is just one of the many qualities I admire about you, Shaw. – _8:17 AM_

**John:** Another is your tendency to help friends in need, particularly with your no-bullshit, entirely sugar-free opinions. – _8:17 AM_

Sameen, now abandoning all hope of slipping back into sleep, sighed and sat up a bit straighter. She finally opened her other eye as she came to the conclusion that fighting with John wasn’t worth it.

**Shaw:** Get something looser. You don’t have good enough abs or small enough shoulders to pull off the slenderman cut. – _8:19 AM_

John replied with an emoji implying that he was, apparently, a very happy cat with hearts for eyes.

Sameen had only gotten emojis on her phone ironically, and she only ever used one of them. She sent it to John now. It was the one of the old white man smiling amicably albeit in a vaguely threatening way if you looked too closely.

The conversation effectively ended, Shaw kicked off her covers and made her way to the kitchen. She munched on some Frosted Flakes and promptly ceased thinking about Jonny and the whole Spring Fling thing.

* * *

 

On Monday morning, there was a flyer inside her locker. _Fortieth Annual Spring Fling!_ It announced, in atrociously swirly pink font. There were some stock photos of people with ghoulish smiles dancing and drinking punch.

Sameen crumpled the flyer up in her fist and threw it into the garbage bin across the hall with an accuracy that might’ve made any college sport talent scout redact an offer from some other jock in hopes of pursuing her.

She assumed it was an idiotic campaign by the booster club or whatever, that they had shoved one of those announcements into everyone’s lockers to drum up more buzz.

Had she bothered to look around, she might’ve noticed that nobody else had one in their lockers. The only other flyers were taped up on various walls around the buildings.

She might also have noticed Root Groves standing further down the hallway, trying to not be obvious about watching Sameen and then trying even _harder_ not to be a little upset that the paper had been used in a small-scale basketball game.

* * *

 

Tuesday, during third period study hall, Sameen came in only a little bit late and found Root already in the room. Root was over at a different table, standing and talking to some other geeky looking kid who, if Shaw remembered correctly, always walked with a slight limp. Shaw sat at her regular seat and wouldn’t have paid any attention to their conversation if it weren’t for Root’s voice deliberately projecting.

“I don’t know, Harry,” Root said, providing a name for the limping kid although Shaw didn’t really care to know. “I might not even go… I don’t have a date yet, or anything…”

Root couldn’t keep herself from glancing over at Sameen, trying to gauge is she was listening or not. If she was, would she take the hint? Was Root only imagining Sameen’s slight frown of concentration?

Harold, who still objected a bit to being called ‘Harry’ by his computer science buddy, looked between the two girls and tried to piece together what Root was doing. “You could tag along with me and Nathan, if you’d like?” he said, the offer coming out as a question. He never could figure out how Root’s mind worked.

Root, now full-on staring over at Sameen, gave a small shrug and a half-hearted, “Maybe. Thanks, Harry.” She then walked over to her own table and placed her books down with a slightly-too-loud-to-be-nonchalant bang. She made sure to have another copy of the flyer sticking out teasingly yet fairly obviously from among them, but said nothing to Sameen as they both got started on respective homework assignments.

* * *

 

Nothing again until Thursday evening, once again in the form of Text Message.

**Root AKA My Biggest Crush:** What are your opinions on corsages? – _9:00 PM_

Sameen read over the text and told herself for the billionth time that as soon as she wasn’t busy she was going to change the contact name Root had punched in for herself.

**Sameen:** Those flowery things? Well I absolutely adore flowers, Root, you know that. They’re right on up there on my list of favorite things, somewhere between paperback romance novels and Cyndi Lauper’s ‘Time After Time’. – _9:02 PM_

**Root AKA My Biggest Crush:** They don’t call you Sassy Sameen for nothing, I see. – _9:02 PM_

Sameen rolled her eyes and started to type back a message about how absolutely nobody called her that (and if they did she would personally like to hit them with a semi), but thought better of it and just let the conversation drop. Why was Root asking about corsages, anyway?

* * *

 

Friday afternoon, just before school let out, Sameen was stopped in the hallway by Principal Heedy, who looked like he was sweating even more than usual. He stuttered out a long string of words that Shaw stopped listening to after a little bit.

His talking ended with the word “volunteer,” which made Shaw actually start caring again.

“Who’s volunteering for what?”

Heedy looked exasperated, turning two shades darker red in frustration that his lecturing wasn’t as effective as the ones they taught administrators in seminars. On a good day, Shaw could up the number to a nice six shades darker.

“Now, listen closely, miss Shaw- you are going to be working at the Spring Fling as a volunteer-“

“Ah, but Heedy- I’ve got nothing to wear to such an occasion,” Shaw cut him off, using a dry and faux-apologetic tone. She didn’t want to jump straight to the anger she felt at being made to attend an idiotic dance if there was a chance she could talk Heedy out of it. “I wouldn’t want to represent my prestigious school poorly by showing up to a formal event in unsuitable attire…”

Heedy, the oaf, looked like he was actually considering changing his mind for a moment. Unfortunately for Sameen, he stuck to his tiny pop-cap guns and repeated that this “would be a-a good opport-tunity” for her to “show some i-i-initiative and um, er, um, responsibility.” She was to report to the snack table at the beginning of the dance. Someone would be watching and monitoring to make sure she didn’t spike the punch.

Heedy, may he forever be cursed, walked away after this insistence. He was afraid, reasonably so, that Sameen would lash out at him if he stayed in close proximity. The one thing keeping Sameen from chasing him down and ripping out his entire larynx with her teeth was the fact that it was stupid to go to jail over a dumb school dance. She’d save murder for something cooler.

Sameen Shaw was going to Spring Fling.

* * *

 

Root Groves was going to Spring Fling.

She gave up on Shaw willingly going with her, briefly considered just handcuffing their wrists together and forcing her to dance, and eventually settled on just going with Harold and his buddies.

Sure, she could just not bother to go at all, but Root actually liked school dances. They were fun- it was, at the very least, an interesting sociological experiment to see how people could justify grinding to every song regardless of genre or tempo.

Harold’s mom dropped them off outside the auditorium. The gangly group shuffled inside, eyes adjusting to the dim lighting and ears immediately buzzing with bass-heavy music and yelling students. Root looked around, not really expecting to see anyone- to see Sameen- but not being able to help herself thinking there was hope for some kind of knight-in-shining-armor situation here. Maybe Sameen would come after all. If she did, Root would not object to letting her lead in a few dances. She felt like Sameen would be a good dancer.

Her eyes found John and Fusco, and they stayed there for a little bit. She knew both those guys were in Shaw’s little clique; maybe they’d somehow convinced her to come.

Well, Shaw may be tiny, but there was no chance she was even hidden among the dancing masses out of Root’s view.

A movement in the distance caught her eye, over by the punch bowl.

Sameen?

…Sameen!

Root allowed herself a prideful smile. Sameen _had_ come! She ignored Harold’s somewhat concerned face and made her way to the refreshment table. She got there in no time at all, easily weaving through the crowd. She took a moment to just observe before speaking. Sameen was absolutely stunning, done up in a black sleeveless dress. Her hair was down for once, and it fell around her face and shoulders perfectly. She was wearing heels, too, which made her a little closer to Root’s height.

“Save a dance for me, Sweetie?”

Shaw didn’t jump at the words, but it was evident that she hadn’t noticed Root around. She, too, took a moment to take in Root’s appearance. Her dress was blue, nicely fitted and cut off at the knee. Her hair was swept back into a style that looked somehow intricate yet effortless.

Her eyes came to rest on Root’s mouth, which seemed permanently stuck in a giddy grin. There was very faint evidence that her lipstick had been smudged. Anyone not looking closely would miss it, but Sameen didn’t. She kind of wanted to fix it. She also kind of wanted to smear it some more, maybe even with her own. She did neither.

Her eyes snapped up to meet Root’s when she spoke again. “I’m glad you’re here, Sam. I didn’t want to have to dance by myself.” Root’s eyes were shining bright as ever.

“Yeah, well,” Shaw mumbled, looking back down to her task of filling plastic cups with ice. “No power in the ‘verse could keep me away from the opportunity to serve sweaty teenagers at a dance that could be mistaken for a sloppy mating ritual by any observing extraterrestrial intelligences.”

Root’s smile faltered just for a second. Was she…hurt? But why would- oh.

Sameen thought back to all the times Root had referenced the dance in the past week. In hindsight, it was painfully obvious she’d been trying to get Sameen to ask her to it as her date. Well, shit. Message finally received.

“I don’t dance, Root.”

Had they collectively imagined it, or had Sameen’s words actually come out sounding sort of apologetic?

Either way, Shaw meant them. She had zero interest in getting sucked into the creepy vortex of gyrating bodies. Not even Root’s Bambi eyes could get her to go along with that idea.

Root, now recovered and still smiling her annoyingly charming smile, shrugged. “I’ll just have to find someone else to be pressed up against all night long, then,” she teased. Sameen looked up, hating that the idea of Root pressing against anyone made her feel anything at all, and Root winked at her.

It wouldn’t work, anyway. Sameen Shaw did not dance, and that was that.

Root walked away and disappeared into the crowd again.

* * *

 

Shaw could only focus on her ice shoveling duties for intervals averaging a pitiful five seconds. Try as she might, she just couldn’t stop herself from thinking of Root- who she might be dancing with, _how_ she might be dancing, whether she was going to come back around the table to either plead with Shaw for a dance again or, worse, to get a drink for her replacement date whomever that devil may be.

Who cares? Root ought to have fun even if Shaw didn’t want to join in. Dances were dumb. _Feelings_ were dumb.

Forget them. Back to ice-out-of-bowl, ice-into-cup, pick-up-another, ice-out-of-bowl… _Root._

Her brain was acting like one of those knick-knacks office managers sometimes placed on their desks when they wanted to give an impression of good-humored relatability to their employees. The ones with the elongated plastic birds, continuously bobbing back-and-forth, up-and-down.

Four songs played in quick succession. Four songs of lyrics she couldn’t make out and bobbing heads of a crowd she couldn’t count. Four long songs of some effed-up version of Chinese Water Torture from her own mind, where the _drip, drip, drip_ was replaced instead with _Root, Root, Root_.

When that fourth song started to fade out, Sameen snapped. She shoved the cup she was holding into the bowl of ice, didn’t bother to acknowledge her monitor or the woman’s stuttering insistence she stay put, and click-clacked onto the main floor, her feet only a little sore from standing in the heels all night.

Root was found, thankfully, _not_ grinding up on anyone. She was over by a table, standing a little ways away from that kid from third period- Harvey, or whatever. No…Harold. That was it. Root was laughing, presumably at a joke Harold had just told. It was incredibly unfair, how very beautiful Root looked in that moment.

As Sameen got closer, she saw Root’s eyes flicker over to the refreshment table she’d just left. Upon discovering Sameen’s absence, she frowned confusedly. It seemed Sameen’s brain wasn’t the only bird on the office desk.

Without a word, she came up beside Root and took her hand, yanking it maybe a little too hard and feeling the other girl finally catching on and willingly following. When she finally got them over to a spot on the dance floor, she whirled around to find an impossibly adoring look on Root’s face. It spiked her heart rate. It made her realize how close they were to each other. It made her realize she was _about to take part in a school dance_. This relationship with Root, whatever it was, was going to kill her, she just knew it.

The fifth song started up before Shaw could say anything. This was both good and bad. Good, because Shaw didn’t really know what to say or whether whatever she did manage to orate would come out the way she intended. Bad, because now there was no turning back or redacting the dance.

It was also bad because it was, in true cliché form, a slow song.

Most single people and jumbled up groups lumped themselves into patient masses along the outskirts of the main floor, making room for the couples and a few very brave or perhaps just stupid singles to take time for slowing down and having some one-on-one time.

Shaw looked over toward the DJ booth, planning to somehow send him a brainwave pleading with him to change the tune. She didn’t realize how tense she’d become until she felt Root’s arms drape around her shoulders.

Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad.

She forgot all about the DJ and their classmates, choosing instead to focus on Root standing in front of her, holding her close. She relaxed a little, and her own hands came up to encircle Root’s waist. Root took the liberty of scooting in closer. The two swayed to the rhythm, and even big bad Sameen Shaw felt herself becoming more and more okay with the idea of this whole thing. This dancing. This _closeness_.

The song was about halfway through, and Sameen was just about to stop fighting off a pleasant smile, when suddenly Root stumbled backwards and lost her balance, hitting the ground painfully.

Sameen, at first, thought that Root had just fallen of her own clumsy accord, and was deciding between an eye roll or a laugh when she heard the disgustingly unmistakable sound of a mocking white boy. She looked closer, and sure enough some ratty hand-me-down dress shoe was sliding away from where it had lodged itself to trip Root. The shoe’s owner said something beneath his breath.

“What the hell did you just say?” Shaw’s voice was deadly, a calm wave clearly covering up a tsunami.

The boy looked at Sameen, defiance wavering a little when directly confronted. A few close-by couples turned to gawk.

“I called you a dyke,” the kid repeated, sneering with his yellowed teeth. “Problem?” A few nearby buddies of his snickered.

Sameen set her jaw and looked away from the bratty douche, leaning forward to help Root up. Root looked upset, but there was also a darkness in her eyes that said if Sameen wasn’t going to handle this, she would.

“Usually,” Sameen started, eyes snapping back and honing in on the kids with focus like a sniper rifle, “I try not to murder anyone while on a date.” She paused here, letting the word _date_ sink in and letting the crowd know that, yes, she _did_ mean it.

“But I think my girlfriend is just going to have to make an exception here.”

Before the nasty grub had time to even form the idea of speaking again, Shaw decked him dead-on in the nose. All of his confidence came gushing out with his blood.

For the second time that night, Sameen grabbed Root’s hand and pulled. She didn’t stop pulling until they were outside and away from everyone else. Shaw had yet another reason now to hate dances.

But Sameen was pulled out of her anger at a record pace. The catalyst for this reaction? Root’s lips on hers.

Both of them leaned into it, each wanting the other to stay close- to get closer, even. Neither noticed or cared about the lack of oxygen until they absolutely had to break apart. When they did, Shaw only took a quick breath before tilting her chin back up for more.

She was stopped by Root’s hand, which cupped her cheek as her thumb ran across Sameen’s bottom lip. Their foreheads were touching, and their eyes met as they both breathed in the moment. “Thank you, Sameen,” Root said, her voice soft and almost fragile. Shaw was a little afraid she’d break her. That fear left her mind as their mouths crashed back together, and every other thought left soon after as Root bit down on her lip.

All in all, Spring Fling was alright.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank each and every one of you who take the time to read these! Sorry to do this to you again, but I think it's going to be another skipped Sunday update this time around. Homework before finals week, amiright?


	7. Mending

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I'm always getting hurt in fights, you're always getting hurt tripping over air. Let's just agree to patch each other up." A very short, sort of installment-between-chapters kind of thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so here's the deal- my grandpa is currently in the hospital, so me and my mom have been in and out of there as well as over trying to help out my grandma. So, basically, I had no time to write what I wanted to. But I won't leave you with nothing, so here we are: a very short, in-between tidbit of a thing.
> 
> There WILL be an actually good chapter Sunday, though, so please do stick with me!!

Root’s hands were always tense and hesitant at first, like they were sure the opportunity to touch Sameen was going to be taken away at any second. They were always cold- not in a clammy way, just sort of vaguely chilly, like the condensation on a water bottle left after the water inside has already become lukewarm- and they made Shaw shiver a little every time they made contact. Some hopeless romantics may interpret those shivers as manifestations of Shaw’s nerves going haywire due to some internal thing that buzzed awake in her every time Root reached out toward her. She chose to maintain that it was only the cold; nothing more, nothing less. Sameen would stay mostly still. If Root took too long to assess her wounds, or if she kept on being too damn _gentle_ , Shaw would lean into the touch until there was finally some force upon her skin.

If there was blood, Root would attend to that first. She’d get a washcloth, or a paper towel, or even, in a pinch, she would just use her own jacket sleeve. She always looked apologetic if she had to use peroxide on it- her face in those moments was always the most unbearable part. It honestly sickened Semeen to see Root frowning like that- like Sameen was a fragile object in a china shop and Root was that proverbial bull who had the potential to break everything with one false move. It wasn’t _her_ fault Shaw was always getting into fights. Well, alright, a lot of the fights were _about_ Root, or about defending their honor or wiping away every last stupid smirk from kids who still looked like bashful dwarves whenever it was acknowledged again that resident badass Sameen Shaw had a girlfriend. But Root was never the one who physically _hurt_ her. She didn’t need to fuss about it so much.

* * *

 

Sameen’s hands were different. They were always, always sure of themselves, and never made any movements that didn’t have purpose. They were warm, like a fire in the hearth of an old log cabin if life were still like Little House on the Prairie. They didn’t make Root shiver, but they made a fire spark up all over her body with every touch. Her fingers were sparklers and Root was the night sky on the fourth of July. Shaw would make a great doctor, if she went for it. Even though her touches weren’t exactly _gentle_ , they were somehow soothing. Any time Root got hurt (usually just because she was always forgetful of her own limbs, and sometimes she tripped over her own feet, or, most frequently, she got papercuts), Sameen would make her sit down and she’d run her wonderfully scorching hands over the wound.

Whenever Root was bruised, be it small or the size of a baseball, green or blue or not visibly discolored, Shaw would bring her hand to rest there. Sometimes she’d test the bruise against various amounts of pressure. She always eased up as soon as Root let out a hiss of pain, always watched Root’s face to see if she flinched. Root always looked back at Sameen, unabashedly affectionate and paradoxically happy.

* * *

They both knew they could easily patch themselves up. They both knew the other knew that, too.

Neither would admit it aloud.

Neither really minded getting hurt so much.


	8. Kill of the Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Really? I've offered my services in beating up people for you several times, and you're......calling on me because you can't kill a bug?? Fine, I'll get it. No, of course I'm not scared I just--holy-shit-it-moved hang on-"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so very much to all y'all with your adorable comments, whether they're nice praises of the story or thoughts and prayers for my grandpa. Much appreciated! He's got surgery today, so fingers crossed for good results and whatnot.
> 
> Anyway, this one's kind of short, too, but it's good [I think]. Enjoy! Next Friday is date night for out little dorky murderers, so get ready!!

“Sameen?”

…

“Sameen??”

…

“Sa _meen_ I _know_ you’re awake.”

“No you don’t.”

“Of course I do- nobody is snoring anymore.”

“I do not snore, Root.”

“Well, then, I guess we have a ghost. A very sleepy ghost with blocked nasal passages.”

“No, that’s just the homeless man I let sleep under my bed. Don’t let your toes hang off the edge. He’s a biter.”

…

“Sameen?”

Shaw sighed, burrowing her face deeper into her pillow and hoping the lack of oxygen might make her pass out so she wouldn’t have to deal with anything so early in the morning. Last time Root had woken her up like this, she’d asked her a bunch of stupid questions about aliens, and whether she thought they had similar concepts of free will as compared to humans, and did she think aliens participated in team sports? …It was a wonder Shaw still allowed her to sleep over at all, really.

“Sa-“

“ _What,_ Root? What is it?”

“…There’s a spider…”

Shaw grumbled loudly into the pillow. If it weren’t so early in the morning, and if she wasn’t so annoyingly involved with Root, she probably would have let out some creative curses. It seemed Root was still talking-

“-‘d get it myself, but this one’s kind of big and I don’-“

Shaw balled her fists into the comforter and flung off her covers, ignoring the cold air that she was defenseless against in a tank and some sleeping shorts. “Where?” She was rubbing sleep out of her eyes as Root pointed, but she followed instead where Root was staring. _There_. In the corner, above the bed and to their right. Okay, well, yeah…it was a pretty damn substantial spider, alright.

Sameen wasn’t afraid of spiders, but she didn’t particularly _like_ them. Still, she swung her legs out from the bed and sort of jumped into a standing position. She grabbed the closest weapon available to her.

“You’re going to use _my_ shoe??”

“Yes, you big baby. It’s close, and it’s blunt, and if you don’t just let me do this and get back to sleep I will be squishing _you_ instead.”

Root stuck her tongue out childishly, but she made no further comment.

To get a better angle of attack, Sameen stood on the bed. Her feet were positioned one on each side of Root’s hips. With her limited wingspan, Shaw had to stand on her tiptoes and hold the shoe rather loosely by the heel.

_-S M A C K-_

_…_

_-S H I T!!!-_

The spider, significantly  more mildly inconvenienced than dead, was not flattened by the impact. Instead, it fell- actually sort of creepily fluttered- down the wall, on a very unfortunate and very direct path to Root’s face.

Root instinctively jerked her head away, letting out a small squeak that was equal parts disgust, fear, and surprise. She also flailed a little bit with the rest of her body, jumping a little and trying to prevent any part of herself from being touched by the offending arachnid.

This, in turn, caused Sameen to come tumbling down- knocked forcefully off-balance by Root’s swinging appendages. She crashed painfully on top of Root, bones making noises like pop-guns as they connected and started to bruise the skin. This made both of them yelp, Shaw a little more so because Root was all edges and it felt like dropping down onto a cliché pile of rocks set menacingly under a waterfall.

She had fallen sort of sideways, just managing to avoid falling on the floor entirely. She spotted movement out of the corner of her eye- the spider, now a moving, mocking target, was trying to scurry into a lower corner. She wasted no time, chucking the shoe from her awkward angle and hearing a very satisfying _whack_.

When the shoe bounced off the wall, it revealed a tiny smudge of guts.

_Enjoy Spider Hell, asshole_.

The two lay there, tangled and tired, for a little bit. They were breathing hard, like they’d just been in combat with something bigger and badder than a stupid little spider. After a while, Sameen swung herself back into an upright position, finding her knees where her feet had been- one on each side of Root’s hips.

Their eyes locked. Root looked like she didn’t know whether to laugh or to try to be flirty. In a moment of terrifying weakness, Shaw lunged forward and connected her lips with Root’s. Root seemed happy to comply, craning her neck up to try and make something deeper of it.

Shaw was the one to break it off again. She smirked, mumbled a soft, “Sorry about your shoe,” and rolled back over to her side of the bed. (That was a weird new phrase for Sameen- ‘ _her_ side of the bed’. When had it changed from just being her bed to being something shared?)

When new waves of sleep started washing upon the shores of Shaw’s brain, she welcomed them gladly. Just as she was getting tugged out to sea, though-

“Sam?”

“Mm?”

“…Do you think aliens have similar diets to humans? Or do you think they even have to eat at all? What if their basic metabolic str-”

Root was quickly silenced by the pillow Shaw whacked her in the face with.

She went to sleep with a smile on her face. Though she couldn’t see it, Shaw was smiling, too. A small smile, sure- but it was there.


	9. Save the Date- Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Alright, so I guess we're going on dates now, that's fine- except you look too good and that waitress is checking you out and does she know that I can beat her up?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A day late, because prom was yesterday and it was crazy enough to make me forget to post things. Part two will be up tomorrow!
> 
> From the following suggestions:  
> "I wonder what it would be like if Root took Shaw on a date specifically for Shaw's enjoyment. I.e. going out and doing the activities Shaw enjoys." -InuGhost  
> "Martine pissing Shaw off by either bullying or flirting with Root" -HabsFan
> 
> Thanks guys, hope I did alright!

Shaw tugged the hood of her jacket down lower over her head as she wondered for the eighty-seventh time that minute why the hell Root was making her stand outside. She didn’t go back inside either, though- and if it were anyone else she’d have turned tail by now.

The text had come about two minutes ago:

**Root is my Big Lesbian Crush:** Come outside!

(Root had changed her own contact name in Sameen’s phone once again. She said it was a quote from Mean Girls, and had seemed quite scandalized that Shaw had never seen it. Root had also changed her contact picture to one of her making a dumb face in the foreground while framing a sleeping Shaw in the background. Shaw had given up the whole ‘I’m-gonna-change-that-later’ idea by this point, insisting to herself that she Did Not Care and that it was okay because she actually looked decent in that picture. The fact that Root’s face lit up anytime she looked over to find that Sameen had left it…well, that just did not have anything to do with it, no sir.)

So, Sameen had thrown on a jacket and did as instructed.

But there was no Root. No smiling face, no curls flying every which way. Nobody at all to excitedly grab onto her arm or her hand and start pulling her along, launching into some story or other with eyes ablaze in warm contentment.

She was annoyed that she didn’t find these things annoying much anymore. Root had become someone she tolerated, somehow- _liked_ , even. Except, of course, when she pulled shit like this.

**Sameen:** Whe

She didn’t have to finish typing. Pretty much as soon as she’d opened the message, she heard footsteps approaching. Looking up, she found that smiling face, those curls, that crazy girl she couldn’t get rid of. Root walked right up to her, grinning from ear to ear. Sameen sometimes wondered if the whole “Don’t make that face too much or it’ll get stuck like that” thing wasn’t just some motherly scare tactic, and if Root actually had smiled herself into permanent cheek muscle hell.

Root was dressed sort of nicely. It was nothing too fancy, just some nicer jeans, sandals, a soft-looking v-neck shirt and a cardigan, but it was nice enough to make Shaw feel a bit underdressed in her worn out haven’t-been-washed-in-like-a-week jeans, black t-shirt and jacket. “You made me wait,” Sameen said, once Root was within earshot.

“The best things in life take time, and they’re worth waiting for,” Root countered. As predicted, as soon as she was close enough she reached out to grab onto Sameen’s upper arms. Her fingers trailed down smoothly until they where a ghostly presence gently pulling on Sameen’s hands.

“I don’t think that’s a saying.” Root led Sameen over to the Volkswagen parked in the Shaws’ driveway. She didn’t make a retort this time, just made a face back over her shoulder to Shaw. To Sameen’s surprise, Root didn’t head for the passenger seat. Instead, the brown head kept bobbing in steady rhythm over to the driver’s side. “Root, I am not giving you the keys to my car. So, I sugge-“

“Oh, I lifted your spare _ages_ ago, Sameen,” interrupted an all-too-chipper Root, unlocking the car to drive home the point. She smirked at Shaw’s evident outrage and all-but-sang, “Hop in!”

If she really wanted to, Sameen could go over to the driver’s side and pull Root right out. She could argue until Root backed down and got out on her own. She could even go back inside her house and lock the door.

She didn’t know if she wanted to.

She set her jaw and opened the passenger door, grumbling only minimally. It did not help her temper to see that Root was looking so smug about this.

“Do you even have a _license,_ Root?” she practically grunted. Root just snorted in apparent amusement and waited until Sameen was buckled before backing out of the driveway.

They rode in silence for a little bit, Sameen fidgeting more and more with each turn until finally Root had to say something. “If I let you drive, Sam, it would totally kill the surprise.”

Shaw didn’t protest the nickname, which was a positive sign that Root was still decently within her good graces. She did not soften her tone, however, as she spat back, “I know something I could kill instead.”

They were near their destination, so Root didn’t bother to reply beyond a smile that made Shaw feel like lashing out somehow. Root maneuvered the car into a paved parking lot and into a space. It took approximately 0.45 seconds for Shaw to jump out, barely giving Root the chance to pull the key out from the ignition switch. When Root finally did emerge (the longest 25 seconds of waiting Shaw had ever had to endure), Sameen was leaning her arms on the top of her car and vowing to never let it go under Root’s control again. “Where are we, Root?” she asked upon finishing said vows.

“Someplace I really think you’ll like, Oh Tiny and Impatient One,” Root smirked, leaving Sameen behind to stew in anger about the short joke and kicking up dirt and gravel in her wake. Sameen bit back an ill-formed retort and followed Root inside.

When they passed through the door, the smell of grease and tomatoes and cheese was so strong Shaw could feel the obesity in the air. So Root had done all of that just to bring her to...a pizza place? A dimly lit, grimy little joint with waiters and waitresses who practically _screamed_ underpayment? Shaw glared over (well… _up_ ) at Root, but the taller girl just smiled and rolled her eyes, once again reaching out to grab Shaw’s arm and yanking her toward a booth.

They sat down, and just before Shaw could let any words out, Root slid something across the table to her. Looking down at it, Sameen raised a questioning eyebrow.

It was a remote. Like, a PlayStation remote, complete with greasy fingerprints stubbornly refusing to be bussed and a cracked L2 button. Shaw looked back up at Root.

Root, at this point, was not paying any attention to Shaw. She had her own controller, and her hands were already fiddling with the buttons. Following her line of sight, Sameen looked up and over and found a glorious display of screens above every table. It was like the Sistine Chapel Ceiling, only the biblical figures and heavenly hosts were replaced by gory, violent videogames.

Alright. Shaw was intrigued, dammit.

She grabbed onto her controller and quickly entered her name underneath Root’s on the display directly in front of them, ignoring how Root was now staring over at her with that annoying look that made her stomach feel like a cotton gin during harvest time. Root kept cranking that handle, and her insides kept processing themselves into fluff. She took a moment to mentally curse Eli Whitney, and kept her gaze on the screen.

Information entered, the game was on. It was some generic Mario Kart wannabe, but that was alright with Shaw. The crappy cartoon characters were replaced in this version with humanoid figures, and the silly weaponry replaced with an actually decent arsenal, which Sameen was actually sort of excited to deploy.

Just as the animated girl with absurdly and unnecessarily big boobs waved the pixilated flag to signal the beginning of the race, Sameen’s view was interrupted by a waitress. Root immediately paused the game, and Sameen immediately scowled. Sure, it was the girl’s job to serve them, or whatever, but she was standing dangerously in between Shaw and Gratuitous Violence. Never a good place to stand.

“Thanks for stopping in, what can I get you?” the interrupting blonde said, voice belaying her disinterest in her day job.

“Water,” Sameen grumbled, fingers itching to press down on the X key.

Blondie nodded curtly and turned to Root. Suddenly, her face was not as distracted and her voice didn’t sound like it wanted a vacation. She was- she was _smiling_. Was she…

“And for you, lovely?”

…Oh, great diety. She was _flirting_.

With _Root_.

Shaw’s grip on the controller tightened a little. She felt…Well, she didn’t really know how she felt, anyway. She didn’t care. No, it was certainly not _care_. But it wasn’t _nothing_ either, which just served to make her feel more uneasy.

Virtual or not, Sameen needed to shoot something.

It didn’t help, Root’s easy smile as she ordered a soda.

Why the hell did Root have to look so good for a date at a _pizza_ joint, anyway?

“Be right back- name’s Martine, if you need me,” blondie- Martine- said. She practically winked as she walked away.

“We won’t.” Sameen’s own voice sounded up from somewhere in the back of her throat. Root glanced over at her, somehow smiling and frowning at the same time, and raised an eyebrow questioningly. Shaw didn’t look at her, knowing she was being stupid about the whole thing. She punched down on the X and started delving into the game. Root followed soon after.

There was no dialogue between the two of them, just the repetitive click-clack of the buttons and an occasional grunt of frustration- usually from Sameen. Root was _infuriatingly_ good at video games, apparently. They played two rounds before their drinks came. Both times, Shaw got in the most shots against Root, but Root ended up winning anyhow and the entire time she kept a smug grin on her face that just made Shaw so irrationally angry it circled back into indifference.

Meaning, by the time Martine came back around to drop off the drinks and take their order, Shaw was ready to kill a bitch.

Martine, with her dumb face and her pretentious-as-hell name, certainly fit the bill for Bitch.

“Here you are,” spoken pretty much directly at Root, like Shaw wasn’t even sitting there. The clanks of the glasses as they were set down on the table formed further fractures in the thin glass pane of Shaw’s temper.

Root, her voice sweet as rum, ordered them a pizza to split. Did she not see that Martine was into her, or was she just totally fine with playing around with the attention? _Why did it matter_?

Martine stood there and scribbled the order on a small writing pad. Shaw could just _so_ easily-

_OW!_

Shaw’s eyes snapped from Martine to Root, who had just kicked her in the shin rather harshly under the table. She followed where Root’s gaze flickered.

Somewhere in the course of events, she had, apparently, picked up a butter knife from the table. She was holding onto it pretty tightly, too, and it was angled none-too-kindly toward their waitress. Shaw looked back up to Root, whose eyes challenged her until she dropped the knife back down.

Root’s foot still dug into Sameen’s leg as Martine, oblivious to her narrowly avoided demise, finished her writing and looked back to Root with a grin.

“Don’t hesitate to let me know if I can do anything else for you, sweetheart.” Martine’s words were sparks lighting the fuse to Shaw’s anger. The feeling of Root’s foot trailing slowly down her leg was the only thing keeping her grounded.

“Thanks,” Root grinned sweetly. Martine walked away. Her steps were light and peppy and thankfully headed far, far away.

Intruding presence gone, Shaw once again avoided Root’s gaze and started up another round of the game. She got about halfway through a lap around the virtual track before she noticed that Root wasn’t playing along.

Sighing, she paused the game again. It wasn’t any fun if she couldn’t shoot at anyone. She avoided looking up, though, until Root’s foot nudged her again.

“What’s up with you, Sameen? I thought you’d like this place, what with the food-and-violence combination.”

“I _do_ -“

“Then how come you’re getting all,” Root punctuated her words with the motion of swinging a knife, “stabby stab?”

Shaw rolled her eyes at Root’s word choice, but knew she did sort of owe Root an explanation. Which she would gladly give, if only she _had_ one.

They met eyes again, and Shaw gave a sort of apologetic shrug, reaching out to fiddle with her water glass. Root’s hand came up soon after, enveloping Sameen’s and keeping it still. She wasn’t going to back down from the conversation, unfortunately for Shaw.

“She’s making the eyes at you, Root,” Shaw muttered, feeling dumb just saying a phrase like ‘the eyes’, and feeling dumber for the undertone of annoyance she couldn’t hide.

Root frowned, cocking her head a tick to the side. “Yeah, and?”

So she _had_ noticed. Shaw didn’t say anything, just slid her hand back from under Root’s and looked away.

“Jealousy doesn’t suit you, Sameen.”

“ _Shaw_ , Root, call me Shaw.”

Root looked hurt for a second, but that hurt was soon replaced by an anger of her own as she shook her head in disbelief. “What do you want me to do, _Shaw_?”

“I don’t know. I don’t care. You could have stopped her.”

Root snorted. “You don’t get to decide who I can and can’t talk to- flirt with, too, if I feel like it! It’s not like _you_ supply me an excessive amount of attention.”

Shaw stopped herself from rising up to meet Root’s anger. She took a steadying breath and spoke again in a calmer tone. “No, I know I don’t. “

They were quiet for a few moments, individually collecting their thoughts and noting that most of those very thoughts were ‘ _this is so stupid_ ’.

Root was the one to break the silence, her eyes searching Sameen’s and softening. “Besides,” she said, her usual adoring voice back and as inexplicably unsettling to Sameen as ever. “She’s not my type. I prefer brunettes.”

Shaw couldn’t fight off her smile completely as Root added a wink to the end of her statement. It was meant to be suggestive, probably, but the way she had to scrunch up her whole face to do it semi-successfully was downright dorky. If Sammen were the type to use made-up words like ‘adorkable’, this would be a prime context.

Martine, inconveniently punctual as ever, it seemed, came back over to their table, pizza in hand on a hot trivet sort of thing. It looked as though she’d caught on by this point that Root and Shaw were ‘a thing’, and her face was a bit more withdrawn again. “Pizza’s ready,” she said. She still chose to direct her words at Root, but her voice was less sure.

“Thanks, Morgan.”

“…Martine.”

“Oh,” Root feigned a sheepish smile, “Right. So sorry.”

Martine walked away, effectively shot down. Sameen was glad she hadn’t stabbed her, this rejection was far more fun to watch.

Root saw Sameen smiling and showed off her own giant grin, eyes glinting with that familiar mischief and something akin to love.

Breaking off a slice for herself, she asked coyly, “So, Sameen, how’s your mom’s office doing?”


	10. Save the Date- Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Okay, so, you've always known that I'm a big baddie, but I'm just now finding out that you are actually not so innocent yourself. Be still my cold, tiny heart."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short-ish, but the conclusion to their little pizza date.
> 
> Featuring:  
> "Shaw could find out about Root's badass hacker side." -badaboombadabing  
> and "Maybe you can write a chapter on that where they talk about their family situations as they get to know each other better?" -lostinillusia
> 
> Thanks, guys! (Again!)

"So, Sameen, how's your mom's office doing?"

Shaw, whose much-too-large bite of pizza had caught in her suddenly constricted throat, only coughed in response. Root didn’t seem to notice, or care, as she kept on going. “Or, I guess I should say ‘firm’. Lawyers _do_ work in firms, right? Anyway, I saw that she landed a particularly interesting looking art-theft case a few days ago, so that’s-“

“Root.”

Root stopped her rambling, looking over at Shaw with mirth. She was enjoying catching Sameen off guard, it was written all over her face. “Yes, sweetie?” Root’s voice was full of tight sweetness, like someone at a poker game who had slipped a few aces under the table and was now taunting everyone into upping the ante.

Shaw, as much as she hated allowing Root to know she had the upper hand, could not keep herself from wondering how the other girl knew all these things. “Root, I don’t remember ever talking about my mother or her job with you.” Root just smiled and quirked an eyebrow, forcing her to actually ask aloud, “Well? Would you mind filling me in on how you know so much? Because right now my only theory is ‘odd little psychic with slightly underdeveloped powers’, so…”

Root’s smile deepened as she shrugged gleefully. “I do my research, Sam. I like to get to know who I’m dating.” She paused, took in Shaw’s narrowed eyes, and leaned in a little closer to the table and to Sameen. “Started digging through some databases, found your mom’s practice pretty easily, and read up on her. She’s highly successful, a truly focused and goal-oriented lady. Must be where you get it from. Did you know that she even founded a Sorority while in college?”

Well, sure, Sameen knew that. It was _her_ mother, after all.

“Looked into your dad, too- the intelligent soldier man. But his records, well, there weren’t so many of them, especially after…” Root stopped, realizing maybe she had gotten too close to something sensitive. The words hung there in space- words about the fatal car crash so many years ago. To avoid any weird tension, Shaw just stuffed half her newest slice of pizza into her mouth and kept quiet, if a bit hostile in aura. Root was thankful for silence rather than conflict.

She smiled softly before continuing. “And then I looked into your records, Sameen- some really impressive stuff, there. Your grades are pretty good, especially for someone who doesn’t like school, and your IQ is frankly _amazing_. You won your fifth grade spelling bee, but when the news tried to do a story on it, they couldn’t get much from you other than that your mom had made you enter. You’re really good at basketball, or, at least, you _were_ , in middle school; which I remember very well because I spent a good few minutes trying to imagine my tiny little Sameen darting around on a court and let me just tell you, the mental image is _a-do-ra-ble_.” Root stopped again, grinning embarrassingly at Shaw, whose ears were getting a little pink.

Sameen swallowed her pizza and took a gulp of water, all under the warm gaze of Root. She sensed that the interrogation-lamp wannabe was holding back on telling everything she’d learned in her searches. Well, Sameen had nothing to hide, really, but _still_ \- Root knew pretty much everything about her and, as she thought about it, she knew virtually _nothing_ about Root.

Setting her glass back down, she looked up to her riddle of a date. “Alright. So, what about _your_ mom?”

The question was a fly swatter and Root’s smile was the insect. It seemed to actually bother Root, being asked about her own life. Well, that wasn’t fair- she wasn’t about to get away with having info on Sameen while Sameen stumbled around in the dark. Shaw didn’t back out of the question.

It was Root’s turn to fidget, which she did by rolling up her straw trash between two fingers. “My mom?” she repeated, voice full of that fake confidence that left a wavering tone behind it. “My mom… she’s not… I mean, she doesn’t do much. I mean, she isn’t _around_ much.” Her voice had a sort of steely defensiveness to it now. She wouldn’t meet Sameen’s eyes for a while, and instead her eyes and thoughts were far away.

Sameen tried to make herself sound kinder, but didn’t stop herself completely from pushing on and asking, “What about your dad?”

Root let out a humorless laugh. “Ah, well, he’s not around at all. Only met ‘em once.” Her eyes suddenly lost their far-away, dream-land look and locked onto Sameen’s. “He sends birthday cards, though. Most years. Some of them even get here on time.” It sounded a little like she was trying to make herself feel better about the whole situation. Sameen didn’t care for that- cut through the bullshit and accept the crap you’re handed, that was how she liked to live.

“So, how do you, like, pay for things? I mean, it doesn’t sound like you’d get much of an allowance or anything, not from your shit guardians.”

This question softened the hardness in Root’s eyes, and even made the corners of her mouth perk back up into something resembling a smile. “It’s not hard to get into a bank account, if you know what you’re doing,” she said vaguely, with more than a hint of pride.

Sameen caught her implication, but voiced it aloud anyway. “You hack people’s accounts.”

Root, no semblance of remorse or guilt on her face, smiled wider in affirmation. “Nobody misses the money if you only skim a little at a time.”

Alright. So, Root- nerdy, belongs-on-the-cover-of-a-catalog-for-glasses-sold-specifically-to-librarians, straight-A or die Root- was kind of sort of a badass hacker. Shaw wasn’t super familiar with Southern colloquialisms, but she believed the phrase for a revelation like this to be “Butter my butt and call me a biscuit”. It was a nice thing to know, that she wasn’t the only half of their odd duo to have a slight criminal streak. Almost comforting. _Definitely_ hot.

Root caught the way Sameen’s eyes lit up, and noticed the Archaic smile playing at her lips. She liked it.

“Anything else I should know about, miss criminal mastermind?” Shaw asked, really curious.

Root thought a moment before replying. “Well, there’s the fake I.D.’s and unregistered tasers, but that’s about it…” Sameen looked genuinely impressed; the feeling washed over Root and it was strongly welcomed. Taking out some embezzled bills to leave on the table in payment for the meal, Root added, “Oh, and there was that one time in third grade when I superglued construction paper to this one girl’s finger. No charges were pressed on that one, though.”

Sameen rolled her eyes, but the light never left them as Root took her by the hand once more and led her outside. As an added bonus, Martine was so busy glaring as they walked past that she got hit in the face with some stray pizza dough.

Shaw drove them back to her place, where they settled in for the night. Date nights weren’t so bad. Sameen would insist on driving them everywhere from now on, of course, but...yeah. They weren't bad at all.


	11. Great Escape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I got caught for something stupid, so come bail me out of jail and maybe we can ride off into the sunset or some chiz? idk I think I'm kinda bad at planning dates..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the suggestions and comments- they make my day!!
> 
> Featuring: "Shaw getting miffed with root for being MIA for a bit but actually Root's saving for a motorbike so she can bring Shaw for riding dates"-brittlepeanut (and maybe sometime down the road I'll do more with that idea!)

“Shaw-comma-Sameen? Come with me, please.”

The tiny firecracker in question looked up at the rough brown-skinned, overweight, overall-resembling-an-overinflated-football of a man who had spoken to her. The shiny gold nametag on the shoulder of his uniform identified him as Officer Gunder.

Knowing better than to argue with a correctional officer, Shaw stood and walked away from the hard, wobbly bench she’d spent the night on. She followed Gunder out of the holding cell, greeting each threatening look from the other inmates with a look of her own that challenged them to be stupid enough to try anything against her. No one did. Shaw liked to think that if she ever wound up in jail for real, she could hold her own pretty damn well. Maybe even make bitches out of some fellow inmates. Worst case, she’d be left alone- but there was no way _she_ ’d ever be made a bitch of herself.

Gunder’s chipper voice piped up again, dragging Sameen from her daydreaming of owning a prison yard and throwing down with some poor sap who probably didn’t even do anything cool to get incarcerated anyway. “Your lucky day, today. Your sister made bail pretty quick.”

Shaw scowled at him in confusion. “Sister?” she couldn’t help but ask. Sameen had no siblings.

Officer Gunder’s head nodded up and down like a bobblehead with a wonky spring. Maybe it was just because she was short and had a weird angle of sight, but Shaw couldn’t remember a time she’d ever seen so many chins belonging to one human being. It was kind of impressive.

 _Whatever,_ Sameen thought to herself. _They’re gonna take me out there, realize they’re incompetent enough to try and release the wrong kid, and take me back for another night in the Bullpen._ She felt a shooting pain in her back, making her wince just a little. _And when I finally get home, I’m gonna chug an entire bottle of aspirin after putting my back through that._

They marched out to the main area of the precinct, Gunder’s hand hovering near Shaw’s arm as though he would be able to grab her if she tried to run for it. They approached the front desk.

Standing with her back to them, talking animatedly with the man behind the counter, was a tall girl wearing a leather jacket, dark jeans, and combat boots, with a purse slung over her shoulder. Her hair was just past her shoulders, and it was a shade of black that was so unrealistic it was a wonder nobody seemed to notice. She laughed, and Shaw knew immediately who it was.

The man behind the counter gestured back to them, and the girl turned around, confirming her suspicions. _Root_. Well, not just Root- Root _in a terrible wig_. It was enough to make Shaw snort. Root had been away for a few weeks, no word or warning either, and now, here she was. At a police precinct posting bail in shitty disguise. Gunder looked over, smiling along like a dog who wagged its tail at anything said in a happy tone, despite not understanding the words. Shaw was thankful not to have anyone smarter alongside her, or they’d have been suspicious.

“Hey there, little sis!” Root grinned as Sameen came within reasonable distance. Shaw rolled her eyes. One, she was _older_ than Root, thank-you-very-much. Two, Root was going to have to dial back the flirty, teasing tone if she wanted to convincingly make their relationship seem familial. This wasn’t a Folger’s commercial.

To her further dismay, Root lunged toward Shaw faster than she could react to and enveloped her in a hug that would make a boa constrictor feel compelled to retire its claim to Best Choke Hold in the Animal Kingdom. Root stroked Sameen’s head and deliberately mussed up her hair, dramatically continuing, “We have to get home _right_ away- mom and dad will be _so_ worried about you!”

Grimacing (though internally in the midst of fighting off a smile and even a laugh at the absurdity of the whole thing), Shaw shook herself from Root’s grasp. She resembled, in that moment, a cat squirming out of the arms of its owner who had picked it up at a very inconvenient time. Root stepped away, still beaming, and grabbed some forms from the dude behind the desk, along with Shaw’s cell phone and car keys. Shaw noticed, on the top of the pile of forms, a fake I.D. with a picture of Root in that wig. It identified her as Priya Shaw and it listed her date of birth as a full year and a half before Sameen’s. Root certainly was detail-oriented. And also probably literally insane.

Gunder was, by this time, talking to Desk Dude. This left Sameen and Root/Priya effectively dismissed. They set out toward the parking lot, Shaw walking slightly ahead.

“Hey. Priya?” she asked over her shoulder, using Root’s alias with a slightly exaggerated tone.

“Yes, Sammie?”

Shaw glared back in response to the kiddie nickname, but kept walking. “How did you know I was here?”

Root/Priya grinned proudly. “I like to keep tabs on you, munchkin.”

Shaw paused for half a step to make Root trip up, smiling self-satisfactorily as Root nearly fell down fully. Short jokes, even in the guise of sisterly banter, were not without consequence. “Well, thanks, I guess,” she muttered after picking back up her stride.

They exited the building without any complications. Now that they were in more open space, Root took a few extra steps until she was side-by-side with Shaw. Shaw might have tried to retake the lead, but she liked to think she wasn’t so petty and, plus, she didn’t know where Root was planning to go from here. Or _how_ she planned to go. If Root’s only way around was on foot, Sameen was seriously going to consider making Root carry her. Not a very Punk way to get around, but her muscles were damn sore and she was certain Root would agree to it in a heartbeat.

“So, what’d they lock you up for this time, my darling delinquent?”

“There haven’t been any other times, Root. And, anyway, didn’t they list that on whatever database you were tracking me with?”

Root rolled her eyes with a grin. “Not _tracking_ , sweetie, I’m not that scary. Just checking in- and it’s a good thing I did, too. But, to answer your question, I didn’t look too closely. I just saw that you were in the slammer and-“

“’Slammer’, Root? Really? Are we in a country and western film?”

“- _and,_ ” Root continued, ignoring Sameen’s interruption, “looked into bail bonds. Had to break open some emergency funding accounts, but it wasn’t too bad. Came down as soon as I could after that.”

Shaw might have felt a little guilty about that, if she wasn’t Shaw and if it was actually Root’s own money instead of some poor sucker’s. She didn’t say anything, noticing that they were walking deeper and deeper into the parking lot. If they walked all the way down to the main road, she decided, she’d ask about that whole Being Carried thing. Honestly, she’d take a piggy back ride if that was the only thing available- dignity be damned.

“Oh, c’mon Sam! What’d you do?” Root nudged Sameen out of her thinking.

She shrugged. “Trespassing.”

Root raised an eyebrow. “Trespassing?” she repeated. “That amount was a hell of a lot for just _trespassing_ , Sameen. Unless you broke into a billionaire’s secret art collection vault.”

Shaw looked away, shaking her head. “I was cutting across some dude’s private yard.” She paused, swallowing. “To, uh, get away from the cops who were already chasing me. Because of some petty theft, or whatever.”

Root stared at her incredulously, though the corners of her mouth threatened to betray her amusement with a smirk. “Sameen-“

“Might have been a little bit of aggravated assault in there…but just, like, a miniscule amount. Minimum degrees of assault.”

The smirk broke free, though Root tried to still keep on her mask of annoyance. “Sa _meen_.” Shaw looked over at her, smiling a little bit herself. “Why, Sameen? Couldn’t you have stayed out of trouble for just another two or three days?”

Shaw hated to admit it, even to herself, but it turned out that Root was about 80% of her impulse control. Instead of saying as much, Shaw just shrugged again and came up with the ever-so-eloquent, “Bored.”

They were almost at the end of the parking lot now, where there were only a few cars and a motorcycle or two.

“So, they caught up to you in this dude’s lawn?” Root asked.

Shaw’s ears reddened a little. “Uh, yeah, well…” she mumbled something Root couldn’t catch.

“What was that?”

Sameen didn’t meet Root’s eyes as she took a breath and repeated, more clearly this time, “I got caught in the fence.” Root grinned widely, picturing her little dork outmatched by something as mundane as a fence. Shaw mumbled, like it was an afterthought, “My belt loop got very well acquainted with that chain link…”

Root was laughing as she veered right. Shaw would have missed the change in direction if she hadn’t been looking over at her grinning idiot to see her nose do that stupidly adorable thing it did whenever she laughed.

“Root?” she asked, catching up in a few paces. “Or should I still be calling you Priya?”

Root looked like she’d just remembered the whole sister-disguise thing, and was still stifling a little giggle as she pulled off the cheap wig and stuffed it in her purse. Her natural hair cascaded down freely as she took out a couple key bobby pins, and it only looked very slightly matted. Shaw was surprised nobody had ever approached Root to try and cast her in some L’Oreal commercial or something. That hair was always near perfect- even, apparently, after being hidden under a wig whilst breaking a friend out of jail.

They walked a little further, until they were right in front of one of the motorcycles Shaw had noticed earlier. She hung back a little, but Root strode confidently up to it and grabbed the helmet off the seat. She tossed that one to Sameen and took one off the handlebar for herself.

Shaw caught the helmet and looked down at it, raising an eyebrow. It was a matte black, with faded red-orange flame designs curling around the bottom edge. She was sure even a preteen boy wouldn’t think it looked cool. The only way it could’ve been worse, actually, would be if it had one of those fake Mohawks running down the middle, in some bright green or hot pink travesty of an arc.

She looked back up to Root, who was already perched on the seat. She had to admit, Root looked pretty hot in riding gear.

“Hotwiring?” Shaw asked.

Root looked exaggeratedly offended. “Heavens, no, Sameen- haven’t you had enough of crime for the day? This is what I’ve been working on while I was away. This one and a matching bike for my girlfriend, which is incomplete and still in the shop. It was _going_ to be a surprise, but…” Root gestured to the precinct.

Alright. Root looked _unbearably_ hot in riding gear.

Shaw couldn’t help but smile- a real, genuine smile- as she came nearer to Root and hopped on the back end of the motorcycle. Remembering the time Root had driven her car, Shaw deigned to don the head protection, figuring a fashion insult was better than a broken skull.

She never outright said anything about Root’s surprise, but the way she leaned against Root as they drove off in a dizzying hum of horsepower let her know she was thankful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so hey I'm adding this little note on here as just a kind of heads-up: my grandfather did pass away today [5/18] so I might be a little spottier with the updating and such due to like funerals or whatever. Thanks for reading and hopefully I'll be back and better soon!


	12. Sweet Hearts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Yeah, ok, bake sales are lame... /totally/ lame...lame as HECk... but like I really dont care and I am GETTING a COOKIE, alright?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who's back [back back], back again [in in]  
> ...It's me. Kinda. Yay!  
> Here's a short chapter to help us all get back in the groove, featuring an angry Sameen and a doomed middle-aged mother.

Sameen Shaw yanked the headphone buds from her ears, which was actually unnecessary as what she was trying to do was take in some smells. AC/DC album forgotten, she sniffed the air once more. She felt (and somewhat looked) like a bloodhound hot on the trail of some unfortunate fox who would soon, contrary to the light and fuzzy Disney cartoon ideals, be gutted for dinner.

What greeted her hyper-vigilant sniffer was not the familiar smells of teenage angst and spiked coffee, as was unavoidable at Machinae County High School. Instead, she got a heavenly noseful of what were bound to be the Best Effin’ Chocolate Chip Cookies in the Known Universe. _Heavenly_. As in ‘just smelling these cookies will literally float you right on up to the Big Guy in the Sky.’ He’d probably send Sameen hurtling back down real quick, but she had a feeling that offering up one of those cookies might just convince Him to let her through those pearly gates. _That’s_ how powerful those cookies were sure to be.

In the back of her mind, Sameen knew that she was supposed to be meeting Root by her locker and then driving her home (or, more likely, over to Sameen’s house instead), but her brain was pretty much just filled with sugary baked goods. She followed her nose down the opposite hallway.

If a man’s brain was at one with his penis, Sameen’s brain was at one with her stomach.

As she neared the source, more and more delightful smells kept adding themselves to the symphony of scents. Brownies, cake batter, was that apple pie?? Hell yes it was. Her stomach growled, adding another instrument to the food-based philharmonic.

What greeted her eyes as she rounded the corner made her almost certain this was not reality but was, in fact, the opening scene of a very, very good wet dream.

Racks and racks of cookies, display stands of cupcakes, trays and bowls and saran-wrapped goodies set out, plain as day, on top of five separate tables. The fluorescent lighting created a poetic atmosphere all around them, and Shaw was about ready to drop to her knee and propose to all five tables at once- monogamy be damned. To make matters even better- the cherry on top, if you’d like to be cheesy and stick to desert-themed puns- leaning against the second table from the left was none other than the one and only chemically imbalanced criminal hacker she called her girlfriend.

Root smiled sweetly over at her little firecracker. She’d been right to assume that Sameen would head straight for the food and forego their locker date.

Shaw’s eyes flickered between all the food and Root, and though they lingered on the brownie table for a concerning amount of time, she did eventually choose to make her way over to where Root was waiting. That was how Root knew Sameen loved her too, even if she wouldn’t say it aloud yet; she valued Root above Eating. Nicholas Sparks, move your skinny white ass aside, here’s some _real_ romance.

Root half-jumped, half-fell from her perch on the table and took a few steps forward to help lessen the distance between them. Shaw nodded in greeting, actually going so far as to turn up the corners of her mouth pleasantly in the ghost of a smile, which made Root’s heart feel almost as gooey as the melted chocolate chips in the display stand behind her.

“See something you like, sweetie?”

Sameen, miraculously, didn’t even roll her eyes at the flirting. She was in too good a mood. “Why’s this here? Not that I’m complaining…”

Root snorted like an advanced quantum physics professor whose student just asked what a quark was. Wisely ignoring the urge to point out how adorable Sameen’s oblivious-and-slightly-indignant face was, Root brought her hands up to Sam’s biceps (those gorgeous, amazing biceps) and spun her around to her right. Strung up between two posts there against the wall was a very large and very apparent banner, loudly exclaiming, “PTA BAKE SALE!!”

After reading those words, Sameen started to notice how many middle-aged women and sweater vest-clad, balding men were around, setting up those very tables that had called to her and beckoned her to eat her way into an early grave. No matter. She could fake smile and charm her way to a few free cupcakes from Grandma Kathy if that’s what she had to do. She would even listen to Uncle Fred’s political opinions and skewed perception of how Obamacare works if it meant getting her hands on something she could consume.

Shaw scouted the area for an easy victim, one who would be enough of a sucker to only take a few polite nods and over-the-top smiles to crack. _Bingo_. Lady with a fanny pack behind the fifth table, struggling to assemble a display rack. Hopefully, a literal piece of cake.

Shaw looked back at Root, who met her gaze evenly and seemed to know exactly what she was planning. The two descended on their prey slowly, nonchalantly.

“That one there. That little _ethnic_ one- that’s a girl who practically _lives_ in detention hall.”

Sameen heard the conversation happening  as she passed- anyone in a fifteen mile radius who had functioning eardrums could hear it. Her eyes snapped over to the source of the intolerant remarks. The big mouth and poor manners talking to what was probably her soon-to-be-ex-husband belonged to a stocky woman who seemed to bring to life the cliché television trope of suburbia. If force-fed a can of beans, she’d probably fart self-righteousness.

Sameen clenched her fist but kept walking, turning her face away and keeping her eyes on those soon-to-be ingested treats ahead.

“Gets in fights every week, the way my Kimberly tells it. Such a shame- no man wants to date a belligerent girl. Well, I _think_ she’s a girl. She hardly _dresses_ like one…”

What. The hell.

Shaw stopped short, Root almost running into her.

Yoga breaths. Fire-Breathing-Dragon, or whatever. That’s what she would do. Breathe. In. Out. In. O-

“And the one behind her, well _that_ one’s just the oddest little duckling, poor girl.”

Root’s hand came up to rest on Sameen’s shoulder. It wasn’t a hand that suggested, “hold back, don’t start anything.” It was just…there for support.

Just to be sure Root wasn’t going to get in the way of a good old-fashioned Compact Warrior vs. Lady with a Haircut that showed off her Forehead Wrinkles Very Nicely showdown, Sameen looked back at her and cocked an eyebrow. Root was deadly serious, and was probably only a few seconds from some ass-kicking, herself. She leaned in a little closer to Sameen and whispered the most foul words Sameen Shaw would ever have the displeasure of hearing in her entire life.

“She brought _vegan brownies_.”

…

VEGAN. BROWNIES.

_Vegan. Vegan brownies. Brownies. Defiled._

_WAS THERE NO JUSTICE. IN THIS CRUEL WORLD._

What in the hell was a “vegan brownie”. What in the actual literal for-real hell itself.

Sameen Shaw would not let this slide. Her eyes snapped over to the placard sitting regally in front of a tray of crusty-looking “brownies”, where she read for herself the horrid words. “Vegan Brownies with Kale. Helen McClearic.”

She then locked her eyes on Helen McSatan herself. The lady looked back at her, pig nose upturned in pompous disgust. Sameen walked closer. Her steps echoed through the dead air and rang out like a warning to everyone present.

There was a definite etching of fear in miss McClearic’s eyes. Sameen’s, however, held no emotion. It was even more frightening that way, more so than if she’d show her anger outwardly. She could probably fell a whole forest with her chainsaw-sharp glare of emptiness- but McClearic’s bark was thick as hell.

Sameen closed the distance, stopping in front of the table the Witch was firmly staying behind like it was a moat surrounding and protecting her lair slash castle. Shaw calmly brought her hand up to rest upon the table. She locked eyes with McClearic. Neither party blinked. Slowly, Shaw slid her hand across the surface, relishing in the faint squeaking that accompanied her action. It sounded like far-away screaming.

Her hand finally came in contact with the tray of Demon Spawn, and kept on pushing. It teetered on the edge, scrambling to keep hold of its miserable existence. Then- _crash_ \- it landed on the floor.

Evil was vanquished. Good prevailed once more.

Sameen wasn’t satisfied.

“Suck a dick, Helen.”

…Now she was.

Stepping on as many of the excuses for desserts as they could, Root and Sameen made their triumphant exit.

* * *

 

Once outside, Sameen’s stomach felt heavy with loss. She never did get to eat any of the actual desserts there… It was a shame, really. Hero’s never got any reward.

The duo were almost to Sameen’s car when Root gave her girlfriend a little nudge. Shaw looked up, still pouting.

But Root held in her beautiful, elegant, goddess-like hands a chocolate chip cookie.

“It was the biggest one I could fit in my pocket…” Root began, but she didn’t need to justify anything to Sameen. In fact, as soon as the words left her mouth they were all but swallowed up by Sameen- who just needed to kiss her girlfriend because she’d really come through in a time of need.

Sameen broke it off again, and as Root froze in giddiness, she took the cookie and shoved about 5/6ths of it into her face.

The other 1/6th she handed back to Root.

This was true love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> {{{I have nothing against vegans, like honestly it's super chill w/ me that you're doing your thing and please don't feel bad at all about that, I just feel like Shaw wouldn't flip over a brownie tray over just some smack talk, y'know?}}}


End file.
